Exchange: Revisited
by NatashaKayy
Summary: Slightly AU, but otherwise sticks to canon. Jeff Sterling migrates to the US of A from the UK following the divorce of his parents. In the States, he meets a beguiling blonde by the name of Quinn Fabray. Follow the life and times of Jeff as he takes on relationships, friends, enemies, and life, in general. Rewritten.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: I do not own Glee or any of its characters.**

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Being an exchange student is hard; the language, the spelling, the accents. The driving on the wrong side of the road was especially odd. No one enjoys being the new kid, let alone an exchange student, but that can't be helped if your parent and/or guardian decides to move you halfway around the world. Mrs Kelly-Ann Sterling née Ledsworth was offered a promotion in Ohio to head a PR company, and having chosen to live with his mum after the divorce, Jeff had had no choice.

He will miss the hustle and bustle of London, no doubt about it. There was something about starting afresh in a country that was so foreign and so new that intrigued him, that made him want to erase his past. Something that made him want to leave everything behind. Because of this, he had immediately jumped at the chance of moving abroad with his mum, pushing away the feelings of having to adjust to everything in time and also ignoring his friends' talks and taunts of him turning into a star-spangled, pretzel-and-hotdog-loving ("That's only in New York, guys."), football-watching _American_.

Within a month of the move, both Jeff and his mum were settled in a suburban home in Westerville, Ohio, courtesy of the Howard, Threshard, and Partners PR Company. It was an immense relief to Jeff because he didn't have to share a room with his twin brothers anymore in their ghastly and narrow townhouse.

It was currently 3:45pm on a Friday afternoon. Jeff Sterling was in his room, his belongings all unpacked from boxes and arranged in around his room to his liking. "The bookshelf there, desk by the window, guitars by the balcony doors," he mumbled to himself. "No, not the bed; something's off." He was just about to shift his new bed when his mother called for him from downstairs.

"Jeff, dear. Come down to the kitchen, please," his mum called.

The blond dancer padded down the service stairs in to the kitchen, where he saw his mother rinsing fruits at the sink. On the kitchen counter were many colourful glossy brochures for secondary schools.

"These are all within range if you get me a car, right?" Jeff asked, biting into a green apple. "'cause these schools are all nearby, and I've to map out bus routes if I choose to go to a school not-so-near here."

His mother only chuckled in response, tossing a dishcloth in his face. "Funny, Jeff. You know we can't get a car for you yet until I settle down with this job and establish a proper income to raise you and your never ending list of teenage demands, right? I thought we've talked about on the plane on the way here."

Jeff leafed through the glossy papers, each school fighting for his attention with its glamorous hallways, gymnasiums and other facilities and such. This was going to be a hard decision.

"Just trying my luck," he said with a shrug and a cheeky grin. "_Can_ we get me a car, though, if I were to choose a school in, let's see-" He pawed through the leaflets. "Aha! This one!" he exclaimed and pulled out one of the pile. "William McKinley High School all the way in Lima."

"That, my dear son of mine, will be at your own expense and time, 'cause I'm certainly not going to drive you back and forth everyday." The mother raised her eyebrows at her son, as if to dare Jeff to accept that challenge of commuting to Lima everyday, five days a week. "Of course not!" she continued with a scoff. She leaned on the counter and plucked out a midnight blue booklet with a red crest on the front cover. "You," she said. "Are to attend this school."

The younger blonde's eyebrows rose to his hairline. "Can we afford private, mum?" he asked. Sure, Jeff was used to an all-boys school since primary school, but what with the move to the States and the divorce, surely he knew that finance wasn't on their side at the moment. He put down the rest of the brochures. "The Dalton Academy," he read aloud.

"I had your credentials transferred from your old school in London. Dalton has accepted your GPA with the exception you maintain it throughout the rest of your school years there."

"Deal."

. . . . .

The Warblers: esteemed glee club of Dalton Academy, deemed "rock stars" by most of the student body, and also, the school's pride and joy. Jeff had read about the a cappella glee club in the school's booklet and was immediately drawn to it. His peers and family always said he had a lovely voice and should showcase it to the public instead of his showerhead.

It was within two weeks of transferring into Dalton that Jeff plucked up the courage to audition to be in the Warblers. He had been accepted, having been voted for by the members of the club later that same day.

His best and first friend, Nick Duval, had auditioned with him. He, too, had been accepted after a day's worth of deliberation among the members.

Today, however, was different; the two had auditioned for a solo against Blaine Anderson. They were waiting outside the Warblers' Common Room for the results of the solo audition along with one Kurt Hummel, who had transferred in from McKinley High for sanctuary purposes. He wasn't the first anyway.

According to Blaine, Wes and David, they had ousted Kurt to be a spy for their upcoming Sectionals competition on behalf of the New Directions after the _Teenage Dream_ performance they held for the student body of Dalton. Unfortunately, Jeff had had been down with the flu that day, so he was exempted from the performance. Too bad; he would've liked to scope out the competition as well if he weren't bedridden.

As the three of them were anxiously waiting for the results of the solo auditions, Kurt tried to lift up the tensed anxiety in the air with small talk "So how many times have you guys auditioned?" Kurt asked; Nick was rubbing his palms together, Jeff was bent over with his head in his hands.

Nick and Jeff glanced at each other, nervous. "Three," the brunette boy said with a heavy sigh.

"_Six_," Jeff replied with a dejected sigh at the memory of his repeated failures.

. . . . .

Finding transportation back home has since been a problem to Jeff for a few months now that he has Warbler practices on most nights since the day he was accepted into the glee club. Sure, he could definitely sing _and _dance with ease, but he still had to be there at practices, rain or shine. Jeff was in a dilemma: show choir was his passion, but would he sacrifice it?

He could always get a dorm in the school instead of being a day student, but with his mum's new job, the two of them were barely scraping by as it is. The daily fares back and forth to school were nothing compared to the yearly dormitory rent, and he couldn't be selfish to ask him mother to pay more than what she could afford right now.

Jeff made his way slowly down the Academy's steps, past the lavish fountain at the roundabout, and out the main gates. Crickets were already playing their tunes; it was already late, well past 9PM.

"Hey, Jeff. Wait up," a soft voiced called out from behind him.

Jeff turned to see Blaine jogging towards him, bag slung over on his shoulders. Blaine really is short, he thought to himself.

"Need a lift?"

"If it's alright with you, mate," Jeff mumbled. Dalton Academy was known for educating the sons of rich and well-known people, besides boasting the curriculum, of course, and Blaine Anderson was no exception. And rich boys like he was usually drove to school in their fancy sports cars and convertibles.

They made their way in silence to the underground parking for students, Blaine rattling on about Kurt's amazing voice and song selections. Kurt, Kurt, Kurt was all Blaine could talk about since the openly homosexual joined their school and glee club. Sure, Jeff was happy for the lead singer, but one could only take so much of listening to a particular topic day in, day out.

Well, the journey home wasn't too bad. After nine months in Dalton Academy, Jeff finally learnt that Blaine lived a mere few blocks away from him. Blaine had started making arrangements to drive Jeff to and from school everyday. He had insisted after much protest from Jeff's mum. In the end, the two Warblers decided to take turns driving Blaine's car everyday.

No more taking the late bus with suspicious muggers, then.

. . . . .

"You really can dance, man. Great job!" Nick patted Jeff on the back as they exited study hall where The Warblers had been rehearsing Maroon 5's _Misery_ for Regionals. What had started as a free period of mid term exams turned into one of Blaine's impromptu performances; he was the one who had started with the paper throwing, notes strewn every_where_ and everything else just followed after. At least Jeff managed to gather his notes before some lazy Warbler stole them.

"Jeff, my sister said she'd like to date you!" David smirked knowingly and winking at his fellow dancer. He straightened his bag strap as he fell in step with Jeff.

"Great job, Jeff!" "Some talent you got there!" "Girls would _die_ at your feet."

The compliments flooded in as Jeff made his way through the crowd back to next period. The Warblers were known to give impromptu performances during duress situations, and it was a week away from mid terms, so why not give something to the student body to draw them away from overworking their brains for a minute or two? The crowd that had gathered were half the school's population, and they seemed to need an excuse for taking a break anyway.

That night, he sank into bed, grateful for a proper night's rest after today's dancing and studying. Can I dance that well? thought Jeff to himself as the comments he'd received earlier that day ran through his mind. He always thought dancing as a hobby, a little something besides learning the guitar.

The phone on his bed stand rang shrilly, jolting him from his daydream. His dad, phoning from Bristol.

"What is it, Dad?" he answered exasperatedly.

"It's Arianna, son."

. . . . .

Ten months in Westerville without incident was a blessing to Jeff. After receiving news about his deranged ex-girlfriend, he was in self-conflict: to return to London, or not?

Arianna Florentine Jones is sixteen years old with sandy brown hair with eyes in a shade lighter than her hair. She was from Jeff's old school's sister school. Petite, but athletic, she had a look of a fragile girl but with strength of a gymnast. And she was a control freak besides being a neurotic girlfriend when they were together.

He picked up the phone and dialled a number so familiar that he could punch in the numbers in the dark with his eyes closed.

"My crazy ex-girlfriend tried to off herself." Jeff gushed into the receiver before Nick could greet him properly. "Her mum found her bleeding in her bathroom. Said she can't live without me."

He heard his very first and best friend take in a breath. "Wow."

Jeff cradled his head in his free hand, ruffling his shaggy blonde hair. "She's mental, I tell you. Should I go back to London to see her?"

"No, man. You can't do that. When you leave again to come back here, what makes you think she'll stay sane and won't attempt suicide again?" said Nick, his voice going up an octave. He was nervous for Jeff.

"But she'll do much worse, if I don't, mate."

"We've got Regionals." Nick had said it so softly that Jeff almost missed it.

Damn it. Regionals.

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**Hello, my lovelies, old readers and new!**

**If any of you are wondering, yes, this story is of the same name as the previous one; I only took the liberty and time to edit _every single chapter_ and then some, because I thought the previous story sucked, and was really short to my liking. Ergo, this _longer_ and more detailed story!**

**I hope you had enjoyed this so far.**

**Just want to thank you all for sticking around. I do really love you all. (:**

**Reviews are always welcome.**


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: I do not own Glee or any of its characters.**

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"Jeff! I thought you'd never call me. I miss you so much."

"Well, you tried to kill yourself. Way to grab my attention, Ari," he deadpanned. Right now, he didn't want to give her any assumptions, but she needed him, and for her to listen and understand him.

He heard a wistful sigh from the other end of the line. "Ari. You were the only person who ever called me Ari."

Jeff mentally slapped himself; she was going to think that he missed her! Maybe it had been mistake to ring her, Jeff wasn't too sure. Granted, he had meant to see her before he was to leave for the States, to make amends and not to leave lose ends, but time had not permitted him to. In the end, he just sent her a lengthy email, similar to the emails he had sent out to his friends.

"Arianna," he corrected himself. "Why did you try to kill yourself?"

"You left me," she bluntly stated.

Rolling his eyes heavenward, he replied, "It has been almost three months since I've ended things with you. And that was before I moved to Ohio!"

"Oh, I want to show you this dress I bought the other day while shopping with Mummy. It's the cutest thing, I swear! I'm sure you'll love it."

He knew. He knew she was trying to change the topic to something safe- a habit she used to revert to when the conversation didn't go the way she had had planned out. That was one part of her that Jeff had never appreciated because that only showed him that Arianna Jones was afraid to face the music.

"Why'd you attempt suicide, Arianna?" he attempted again in a firmer tone. He hoped that she registered the seriousness of the situation.

"Lettie was so jealous when she saw it! Her face was just green with envy. And that boy from your school? What was his name again? Ah, yes, Fredrick: he asked me out, but I told him you would be back any day now."

"Arianna." Jeff sighed audibly while Arianna prattled on about the stupid dress and all the attention she's getting. Why did I call her again? he thought. This is crazy. Oh, yes, because as much as he was a nice guy; he had never dislike Arianna, just ticked off most of the time when they were a couple. Her quirks were bearable the first few months, then he heard his friends talk behind his back about how Arianna had tried to control _them_, too.

"Arianna Florentine Jones, I don't give a damn about your stupid dress. Our relationship is over, and you have to accept that fact. I was about to fly back to London to make sure you were alright, but I think I want to change my mind now."

_click_. The other end offered Jeff a monotonous beep.

"That went well," he said to his bedside table as he placed the cordless phone back into its housing.

. . . . .

Jeff was never one who picked fights with anyone. Even if he did, he would be the first to back down, always the first to apologise; he was that good a person. His father always told him that a boy turns into a man when he finally accepted his flaws, responsibilities, and wrongs in life. That is when he learns. Right or wrong, a bigger man steps down first. Fighting, verbally or physically, always brings no good in the end. Well, that little piece of advice was nullified when the old man cheated on his mother.

Not this time, though. He wasn't backing down now. He had to stand up to the rights he deserved as a member of The Dalton Academy Warblers.

"This is a bit ridiculous, don't you think? Kurt gets a duet with Blaine, while all of us sing like puppets behind them? When do _we_ get our own spotlight?" Jeff asked, fists clenched tightly by his sides.

That was the last straw for Jeff Sterling. Kurt was _new_ to the Warblers, a junior member. Sure, he was a shoo-in as countertenor, but what about the rest of them? Swaying and harmonizing and backing up vocals for a soloist for as long as the Warblers were established as an a cappella choir team. Tradition or not, this has got to change. Blaine might be interested in Kurt romantically, but favouritism is _not_ tolerated anywhere.

Nick stood up, a nervous look on his face. He put a reassuring hand on his friend's shoulder and said, "Calm down, Jeff. There will be another time."

The counsel sat in shell shocked silence; Jeff had never raised his voice in any arguments before. In fact, Jeff hardly ever spoke during a Warbler meet besides contributing song choices and dance moves for Regionals. Of course, the latter were mildly discussed because most of them couldn't sing _and_ dance extraneously for five minutes onstage.

Someone cleared his throat loudly, a weak attempt to break the awkward silence. Perhaps it was Flint; he was always the peacemaker amongst them.

"Damn this shit," Jeff mumbled. He shot up from his seat and stormed out the doors, slamming them behind him. "Everything here is just bullshit."

"I'll talk to him" was all Jeff heard Nick say as he exited the room.

. . . . .

Nick found him sitting on a bench under the shady oak tree in the Academy's vast lawn off ways from the main buildings, muttering to himself. As he got closer, he noticed that Jeff was actually singing softly to himself, earphones plugged into his apple green iPod. It had been Nick's welcome gift to Jeff when the blond had enrolled in to Dalton.

"Nick, you're my best friend. I know when you're standing behind me, wheezing like you always do." Jeff said, not bothering to acknowledge his best friend directly, but instead staring at a sparrow on the birdbath. "Care to join me? Like I need to ask."

Silently but swiftly, the brunette took a seat next to the blonde, still quiet.

"I know, I know: Blaine's our best asset to the team and we can't afford to lose," Jeff sighed. He turned to Nick. "Hey, Nicholas." He tugged at the wires of the earphones, popping them out from his ears.

"Uh-oh." Jeff never used Nick's given name unless it was to tell him off, or to tell him something serious that required his best friend's full attention. Nick was sure that his best friend wasn't going to give him a good telling off because he was 100% sure that he hadn't done something wrong to piss Jeff off lately.

"I have a crush on someone-."

The brunette raised his eyebrows. "Really? Who with?" he asked monotonously.

"There's this girl-"

Nick let out a breath he didn't know he was holding in. "That's great!" he interrupted with a cry. "'cause up until a minute ago, I thought you were gay, and I don't bode well with guys who are into me, you know?" Nick laughed.

Jeff smothered his best friend by throwing an arm around Nick's neck and musing up his already-messy hair. "You're a riot, you know that?"

"Hey, you know the thing about best friends in a same sex school. One tends to fall in love with the other; it was only a matter of time," grinned Nick playfully with a shrug.

The blond punched Nick on the arm. "I take back what I said earlier, if that's the case. I'm totally and irrevocably in love with you, Nicholas Duval!" he cried, engulfing his friend in a brotherly hug.

"Oh, har har," Nick laughed sarcastically. "You're just so hilarious that I had just forgotten to laugh," he continued with a playful sneer. "By the way, I don't wheeze."

. . . . .

Kurt had a huge beaming smile on his face. His cheeks were tinted pink, hands held as if in a prayer. He was giving an occasional happy sigh to anyone who would look his way. Blaine himself was grinning.

The Warbler meet was brought to a halt since Nick had blurted out the news earlier upon returning from convincing Jeff to go back to the Warblers' common room. Jeff himself refused to go back until his anger had simmered down, so Nick had left him in a restroom nearby the Warblers' Hall. The congregation had gone on after Jeff walked out on them and Nick had insisted that they go on with the meeting since Nick would be down with anything they come up with anyway.

"Let us decide now what song he would serenade her with. Forget about Regionals for a while," Wes said, smiling, banging his precious gavel gently to ease the murmurs going around the room. "We need a break from all the school's stress anyway. Do we have any suggestions?"

Thad laughed. "Definitely not_ When I Get You Alone_."

The room burst out with laughter, albeit two embarrassed faces trying to hide behind cushion pillows: Kurt could only manage a small smile from the pillow while Blaine blushed scarlet to the scalp. What an experience _that_ was.

Trent grinned. "That was really fun," he said, nodding. "Standing by the stacks of clothes, pushing mannequins around. . ."

"And feeling Kurt's envy seep out from the stitches of his uniform?" Joey offered. His comment earned more peels of laughter from the team.

"Oh, come _on_, guys. You all know that was the biggest mistake of my life," Blaine pleaded, squeezing Kurt's hand. "Can we not bring it up anymore?"

"Speaking of manne_quin_s. . ." Nick trailed off, bringing the subject back at hand.

Wes rapped his gavel again. He was smiling. "What about _Love Story_ by Taylor Swift?"

Suddenly, the double doors burst open to reveal a very flustered Jeff breathing heavily with his head bent down. His blazer was unbuttoned, tie thrown over a shoulder, blond hair mused and sticking up at odd angles. All eyes were trained on him and his unkempt appearance.

"Oh, no, you don't," Jeff panted. He looked up. His eyes were wild, but shining with excitement. "You guys don't get to group-serenade her."

"But-"

"No," he stood his ground. There were groans in the room. "I'm going to make a video for her, and you guys are going to harmonize in the background for me to edit in to the video, yeah? To be fair," he added with a shrug.

. . . . .

It was a solemn affair as everyone sat in stony silence in the common hall reserved especially for The Dalton Warblers. Not a word was spoken, uttered, mumbled, or whispered. Everyone was in various states of forlorn and disappointment. The air was thick with silence.

Kurt had his head buried in the crook of Blaine's neck. Joey was curled up in a foetal position on a leather couch he had claimed all to himself since entering the hall. David and Wes stared at the chess set on the table, neither making a move. Most had their heads buried in their hands. Wes hadn't bothered taking out his precious gavel from its glass casing on the mantel.

Nick had sunk into a couch, slumped unceremoniously. His tie was askew and his Dalton blazer was draped over his face, shutting away the world. Jeff sat on the carpeted floor by Nick on one of the couches, also sans blazer with his legs splayed out in front of him. His head rested on Nick's knee dejectedly whilst his hands absently twirled his phone between his legs. Jeff's focus was aimed at the fireplace but his brown eyes were glazed over.

The Warblers just lost Regionals. Everyone was feeling the effect of the major loss. Someone sighed, and it brought on a chorus of sighs in remembrance of the competition earlier.

The phone in his hand buzzed with vibration, signalling a text. He ignored it, too eaten up with failure to even bother until another one came in three minutes later.

_Hi, Jeff. I'm sorry you lost Regionals. You were awesome on stage. xx Q -_sent 13:07

_Thank you for singing_Love Story_to me. It's my favourite song, by the way. I loved it. xx Q -_sent 13:10

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**Reviews are always welcome.**


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: I do not own Glee or any of its characters.**

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"Kurt! Hey, Kurt!" Jeff called out, running after the well-groomed boy in casual polo and tan khakis. The hallway echoed with every step Jeff took, bouncing off the elaborately decorated walls and ceiling. Kurt was just on his way home after visiting Blaine in the Academy.

"Keep up, Sterling," Kurt called back in response. He didn't stop nor turn around, but instead kept his pace. Jeff had to exert more energy to catch up to the ex-Warbler. At the end of the hall, he stopped, but unfortunately for Jeff, he skidded to halt a second too late. His leather shoes slid across the marbled floor past a bewildered Kurt and he crashed on the mural walls.

As quickly as Jeff had crashed on to the wall, he recovered himself as fast. Jumping up, he straightened his blazer and adjusted his bag strap on his shoulder. "I'm okay! I'm okay!" he cried. He dusted his slacks. His hair was still mused from the fall.

"Oh, my God, I knew you're in love, but don't fall so hard for this girl!" Kurt cried from where he stood.

Jeff dusted off his shoulders. "I'm _fine_. As far as you and I know, I tripped," he grinned cheekily. Kurt gestured to an arch off ways that let to the courtyards.

Turning on his heel, a sly grin on his face, Kurt Hummel said, "Jeff Warbler, you want to know more about my girlfriend Quinn Fabray. Well, you've come to the right person then." He didn't hesitate as he spoke.

Jeff gave his friend a sidelong glance. "How did you know?" he pressed, narrowing his brown eyes. Then he held up a hand. "Don't answer that. You're Kurt Hummel; of course you know everything there is to know." At that, Kurt nodded proudly. Jeff continued, "Except enough Art History to pass Miss Ridgeback's classes. Ow!" he cried after earning a hard slap on his shoulder.

Ignoring the comment, Kurt simply glared at the snickering blond. "Come, we'll talk in the gardens. It's too nice a day to be spent talking in these hallow halls. Though I miss it so," said Kurt with a wistful sigh.

. . . . .

They sat in a secluded area hidden from view from the day students, located as far as the main building as possible. Not many students knew about this spot, save for a handful of senior Warblers and Blaine, who had brought Kurt here many times for some "alone" time.

A white wooden swing sat beneath a white wooden arbour. Ivy had twined itself on the arbour over the years, giving the atmosphere a more romantic feel. Jeff had researched in old Dalton history books and learnt that the founder of the school, Callum Dalton, had built this romantic setting for his lover, Francesca Lumia before her demise. Hence, Dalton Academy's sister school, Lumia Preparatory School for girls across the road from Dalton Academy.

"Quinn Fabray. Oh, Quinn, Quinn, Quinn," Kurt sighed, shaking his head. "What a looker you have charmed this time, you blonde vixen," said Kurt, shaking his head. Not a strand of hair on his head inched from its gelled perfection.

Jeff sat resolutely still in his seat. What if she doesn't like me? What if she thinks _Love Story_ is too corny? Maybe she only said it was her favourite song just to be nice to me. Thoughts ran through Jeff's mind as much as he tried to silence the doubts running through. He knew she had a boyfriend, but sometimes it is inevitable who people fall in love with, right? Maybe it's not love, maybe it's just puppy love, Jeff hadn't a clue.

"Isn't she with that quarterback bloke, though? I saw her cuddling him when we sang _Somewhere Only We Know_ to you, which, by the way, was all Blaine's idea, mate," Jeff added hastily.

"Ah, Blaine, you handsome devil," he muttered to himself. "But yes, she is with Finn, although I have a gut feeling they might break up soon; he's in love with Rachel, you know." He placed a well manicured hand over Jeff's. "Alright, Warbler. If you want to get to know the Quinn now, you have to know the Quinn in the past," smiled Kurt gently. Jeff noted concern in Kurt's glasz eyes. He waved a hand. "Forget about the fact that she's with my stepbrother now, okay? Are you ready?"

"If I love this girl, Kurt, I might as well get to know her inside out," Jeff mumbled loud enough for Kurt to hear. "So what if she was pregnant with some other bloke's kid before? Would that matter?" He slumped back into the swing, swaying them both a little.

An intake of breath from Kurt. "Well, then. You just made it easier for me, Jeff. I was still racking my brain on how to break the news to you."

. . . . .

Quinn Fabray had been pregnant before. Pretty, popular, petite, _religious_ Quinn, pregnant. By some other boy at that, too! Jeff was confused, angry, shocked. Mostly shocked, though.

He managed to stop himself from hurling a lamp across the room. Before he could, a memory flashed before his closed eyes. Who was he to get angry now?

He, of all people, should understand about hiding their own pasts. And that's the thing about pasts; they're meant to stay there, and if you travelled down memory lane one too many times, one might as well stay there. Quinn would understand when he was ready to tell her that he's been to juvie.

"_Marry me Juliet, you'll never have to be alone.  
I love you, and that's all I really know.  
I talked to your dad - go pick out a white dress  
It's a love story, baby just say. . ._"

Yes!

Jeff knew what he had to do now. He thinks.

. . . . .

_Friday_. They were singing Rebecca Black's _Friday_. What has the glee club of McKinley High School come to be? Are they trying to _lose_ Nationals on purpose? And there are actually people who are dancing to that song. Good Lord. Not that he had anything against Rebecca Black, but more and more artists now were having their voice auto tuned and it just ruins the music industry. Although, he had to admit that it was quite a catchy song.

Jeff was appalled as he stood in the doorway of the McKinley school gym, assessing the atmosphere. Girls were in dresses to impress, their dates in matching tuxedoes with corsages pinned onto their breast pockets. He himself was dressed in a simple black tux, paired with a navy blue skinny tie, sans corsage. Blend in, Jeff. Blend in, he thought to himself.

He stayed rooted to the spot, nonetheless.

"Hey, cutie," a girl sidled up to him, dancing as she inched closer. "Never seen you around before." She beamed up at him while dancing along to the beat.

He shook his head. "No, I'm from Dalton."

"You mean the school Kurt's transferred to?"

"Yeah."

"So you're gate crashing," she stated bluntly. "Nice."

Jeff shrugged. "Not really; I'm someone's plus one."

The girl was dressed in a dress that was a shade of orange (tangerine or overripe pumpkin, he wasn't sure in the lighting), black peep toe heels, and make up so thick that she made a clown seem average. That was mean, he scolded himself. Her hair was piled up atop her head. He detected a faint scent of daisies, and noticed that real flowers were in her hair, which explained the fragrance.

"Care to dance?" she asked with an inviting smile.

Jeff shook his blond head again. "No, thank you. I was just about to leave anyway," he nonchalantly brushed her off. She pouted, but Jeff wasn't swayed. "Sorry."

With a frustrated huff (girls still huffed?), she stomped- she actually _stomped_- away to her group of staring girlfriends. They glared at Jeff as they manoeuvred their way through the crowd to disappear in the throng of dancing high schoolers. Wow, very mature, he thought as he tore his gaze off them.

From where he was standing, he watched as the drama before him unfurl. A burly six-foot boy whom Kurt had informed him, known as Finn Hudson, was shoving a shorter curly haired boy away. Jeff noticed Quinn -_beautiful_ Quinn- in a powder blue dress trying to stop the footballer. The crowd had parted ways to allow the fight to go on, some even cheering them on. Jeff bet that some of them didn't even know what they were cheering on.

The two tussled until a gangly gym coach had them both by the arms, escorting them out of the gym. She wore a scowl on her face; she did _not_ look pleased at all.

He saw Quinn running from the gym, about to break into tears. A much shorter girl in a pink dress ran after her.

_O_-kay.

. . . . .

"Now, your 2011 McKinley High prom queen," started their principal in a heavy thickset accent, "with an overwhelming number of votes is. . ." Principal Figgins paused for a dramatic effect. The audience held their breaths for the anticipated and most sought-after position of prom history. "Kurt Hummel."

Silence.

What the hell?

He watched as Kurt ran detach himself from the crowd and run towards him. The boy must have been incredibly upset, because he just shot past a very confused Jeff and into the school hallway. The air shifted past him again as Blaine ran after his boyfriend.

"Jeff? What are you doing here?" Blaine asked, pausing by the exit. He gave his friend a quick once over, surprised to see his fellow Warbler in a tuxedo in another school's formal event.

Jeff simply shook his head in response. "Go after him. My being here can be discussed later, yeah?" He all but shoved the shorter boy to the direction where Kurt had run off to. "Go!" he cried when Blaine hesitated.

The gym was abuzz with confused murmurs. He noticed that a handful of burlier boys standing by the punch bowl were high fiving each other, laughing and smirking amongst themselves. They must've rigged the voting so that the only openly gay boy in the school would win the prestigious label and be humiliated in front of the whole school.

What dicks. That was why he preferred private schools - low tolerance bullying policy. Besides, there were many other ways to humiliate someone, just not as publicly, like in an event that many would remember for the rest of their lives, for instance.

These McKinley jocks were ruthless in their tormenting. Jeff now had a clearer picture as to why Kurt had transferred to Dalton so quickly. All he knew prior to Kurt's transfer was that Kurt had been tormented by another jock, only to the extent of threatening to take his life.

. . . . .

He watched with a smile as his friend accepted the faux crown onstage. Kurt was really brave to stand up to the school, to stand up for his rights, to face the society that had shunned him throughout his schooling years, just because he was a bit feminine for his gender.

"Eat your heart out, Kate Middleton," said Kurt into the microphone as he pumped the plastic sceptre in the air. After a hesitation, the crowd on the dance floor burst into applause and cheers. Jeff whooped from the doors, the smile on his face growing wider as Kurt led the customary Prom Queen dance with Blaine in his arms as Santana and Mercedes belted out _Dancing Queen_ on the stage. How fitting. The Prom King was nowhere to be seen on the dance floor.

After a while of watching his two Warbler friends dancing, his eyes scanned the room once more, looking for Quinn. God, I feel like such a creeper, thought Jeff, running a hand over his tired face.

He had spent almost three hours leaning against the doorjamb of the doors of the school gym. Man up, grow some balls, talk to Quinn Fabray, will you? You're here for a reason, damn it.

"Jeff?" a small voice whispered from behind him just as he was about to finally step foot into the gym. He turned around.

And there she was, standing before him, a questioning but soft look on her face.

* * *

**Song used in this chapter: _Love Story_ by Taylor Swift**

**Reviews are always welcome.**


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer: I do not own Glee or any of its characters.**

* * *

She was so beautifully breathtaking. Even more beautiful than he had ever seen her before, in fact. Hell, this was the best he has seen her since he laid eyes on her. She was wearing a fire engine red dress, paired with sterling silver earrings. Matching bangles adorned her dainty wrists gleaming in the gym lighting. Her ash blonde hair was swept up in an up do. A casual beige scarf was draped over her arms.

But what was she doing here across the North Atlantic Ocean, so far away from home? How did she even get the finances to get here? Was everything alright back home? Had something happened that she had to be here? Was she in trouble?

Arianna Florentine Jones, in the flesh.

"A-Ari. . . Arianna," Jeff stuttered. "What are you doing here?"

Arianna wringed her small hands in front of her nervously. Her sharp brown eyes darted around the gym, flitting back and forth from the crowd dancing in the gym to Jeff's own concerned brown eyes.

"Shall we take a walk?" she finally said to him. Her eyes never met his when she spoke. Something was wrong.

As neurotic, crazy, controlling, and straightforward Arianna Florentine Jones is, nervous she is not. Jeff had never seen her like this before; she was never one to beat around the bush, to step on toes. If she wanted to say something, she would just spit it out. She would look you dead in the eye with the most stoic expression and tell you what you needed to hear.

Jeff Sterling was a good judge of character, but maybe just this once, he was wrong.

He nodded mutely, afraid that his voice would betray his surprise at her presence in Ohio. Jeff led her by the arm from the gym, hoping that no one had noticed the two gatecrashers.

. . . .

They roamed the empty hallways together, walking this way and that without a word uttered between both of them. The emptiness of the corridors threw the echoes around, the sound of high heels and leather shoes reverberating off the walls. Arianna would let out an occasional sigh now and then. Jeff surmised that she had a speech rehearsed in her head, only trying to figure out how to say it to him. That was how much he knew her.

"Arianna-" he started in attempt to break the silence between them.

She cut him off with a "Shh!" He closed his mouth and waited for her to say something. After a minute, "Jeff, help me understand."

"What do you need to know?"

"Why did you leave me?"

He thought he had made it clear to her the minute they broke up that he couldn't handle her needs and her expectations of him. He had left out the part where he thought she was a neurotic control freak, of course, because she'd either fly into a blind rage or cry her eyes out, and he simply can't handle either just then. And also, he had to move to the States to be with his mother.

"You know why." That's right; play it safe.

Arianna looked at him with wide pleading eyes. "But I don't understand-"

"It's as clear as day, Arianna. You understand it as much; you're not stupid."

After a lengthy walk and surface confession, she stopped them at the school's main doors leading out to the parking lot.

With her back towards him and a hand on a door handle, she said with a small laugh, "I've seen the way you look at her, the pretty girl in blue. The one I saw dancing with the taller boy? The one who was fighting with the other one," she started. There was a sadness to her small voice.

Jeff was shocked. How long had she been watching him watch Quinn? How had she even come to know about McKinley's prom? Had she known that he would be in attendance as well? Had she flown all the way here _just_ to have a proper talk with Jeff? So many questions popped into Jeff's over-crowded mind again that he could only gape at her back. How was he to explain himself to her?

Another wave of surprise hit him as the following words spilled out from his ex-girlfriend's lips: "Goodbye, Jeff," she said, with a small smile playing on her lips. In a blink of an eye, a beat of the heart, she had produced a small razor that she had clutching in her fist, it glinting in a dim hallway lighting, and slit a wrist. She gasped at the pain, gasped again at the thick stream of blood steadily flowing down her arm and onto the floor.

Before Jeff could react, she had cut her other wrist with a shaky hand. As before, blood streamed out, staining her red dress to a darker shade. She slumped to the ground, blood quickly pooling around her. Some were absorbed by her dress.

Jeff quickly got down on his knees, thumbing 911 on his cell phone and trying to stop the bleeding all at the same time. But his grip on both her wrists only encouraged the blood to gush out faster, staining his hands.

"Ari, no. Ari, Ari, Ari," he chanted, shaking hands cupping her face. "No, no, no. Get up, Arianna!" he cried, shaking her roughly. Her pale skin went paler as the blood drained from her body. "Wake up!"

He could see the life leave her eyes, a small smile still playing on her lips. "You never looked at me the way you look at that pretty girl, Jeff." With her last breath spent, she slipped from his grasp.

Oh, my God. What have I done?

. . . .

_I'm sorry about your friend, Jeff. But I know you can go through this. xx Q_- sent 14:50

_Hey, man. If you ever need a friend, I'm here for you. - Blaine_- sent 14:54

_Did she really kill herself? In Lima? That is some sick shit, bro. - Nick_- sent 15:03

_You were always wrong for my daughter. Arianna had always loved you, and you threw it all away. You know she entered depression after you left London. Her death and blood are on your conscience now._- sent 15:26

_When you're back from London, we'll talk over some drinks, alright? Stay strong. xx Q_- sent 17:02

. . . . .

"You think he doesn't feel bad about it as it is? She flew all the way to Lima to kill herself in front of him!" Jeff heard his mother hiss loudly into the phone. "I _know_ she's depressed, but you just can't pin it on him!"

He was sitting on a step on the service stairs leading into the kitchen where his mother was on the phone. He just didn't know whom with. He sighed dejectedly, head in his hands. His eyes were rimmed red, hair lank and messy, clothes rumpled. There were bags under his eyes. Jeff knew he looked a fright; worse than those junkies loitering in London alleyways and abandoned buildings.

"Your daughter should've just accepted that fact. He lost his feelings for her, just like you did with your husband!" He heard his mother spitting into the telephone receiver. "And don't you _dare_ bring up my husband again. You do not have the right!"

Oh, Arianna's mother.

"My husband _cheated_ on me," Jeff's mother hissed. "He's nothing to me now."

Listening in on a one-sided conversation was hard, but he would have to make do. Filling in pieces of a puzzle, that is what Jeff is good at. Too bad he couldn't hear what Arianna's mother was saying now, because he would really like to try to explain to her how _sorry_ he is now.

"Look, Georgie, I'm sorry Arianna killed herself, but it's not Jeff's fault; it was never his fault." His mother was backing him up although he knew- sitting with his head buried in his hands- that it was all his fault no matter who said what. "Even you know that," she whispered in attempt to soften the woman on the other end of the line.

His mother's calm composure obviously failed, because she was shout-whispering again, hoping that Jeff wouldn't overhear. "He ended on good terms with her! We went for the funeral last week out of respect to her, and that's that. Let my son move on with his life." There was a lengthy pause. "I _know_ he's upset about it: he's never left his room since we came back, Georgie."

She hung up on Mrs Jones. Jeff waited for his mother to slide the phone home then he made an appearance, standing at the foot of the service stairs. He watched the Sterling matriarch lean over the island counter and sigh tiredly a few times.

"Mum."

Rebecca Donovan nee Sterling looked up to see her oldest son in the kitchen. It broke her heart all over again to see him this dishevelled and unkempt upon returning from the funeral a week prior. The only other time she had seen her son like this was when he was thrown into juvenile detention.

"Oh, Jeff, darling-"

"Mum, I'm sorry." His body began racking in silent sobs. He felt a pair of strong arms encase him in a tight hug. "I'm sorry," he repeated. "It's my fault."

"Shush, sweetie. It isn't anyone's fault. Just cry it all out, darling."

"It's my fault, Mum."

. . . . .

This unofficial and off-the-record Warbler meet was called to by Wes and David, dubbed the 'Jeff-tervention.' It had been exactly a week and three days since Jeff had returned to Westerville. The Warblers, unbeknownst to Jeff, were gathered in the common room after classes had ended for the day. As far as the blond knew, Nick and the guys were going down to The Lima Bean to meet up with the New Directioners for drinks.

Currently, the silence in the room was so thick; no one dared say anything. Kurt rested his head on Blaine's shoulder and let out a breath. Even Wes barely touched his precious gavel. Everyone just sat in sombre silence as the clock on the mantel ticked on, the only constant in the silent room.

"Nick, you're his best friend. What is his current situation?" David addressed the brunette boy slumped on a plush armchair.

Nick sat up and sighed. "I don't know. His mom said he hasn't been out of his room since the funeral, only leaving to go to school and back. Right, Blaine?" He looked towards the boy in question, who nodded. "In classes, he doesn't speak; the speak-only-when-spoken-to policy, you know," he said shrugging. "And he only answers when a question is directed at him. Heck, even the teachers have noticed, but they don't say anything 'cause he's still maintaining his grades and GPA. How he still manages, I'll never know." He was shaking his head by then.

"My best friend. . ." Nick trailed away sadly. "Is a frickin' robot!" he cried, head snapping up.

A few quiet snickers sounded in the room.

"Nick," Wes warned with a smile playing on his lips.

"Fellow Warblers, I think the only way we can express ourselves and be there for Jeff at the same time is through song," said Kurt, clasping his hands together and uncrossing his legs. "That's what New Directions do, anyway."

"And how I sang to you when you left us," Blaine added, nudging Kurt gently.

Wes rapped his gavel softly, smiling, and said, "Let's keep it PG13, Klaine. But I'm down for Kurt's suggestions. Any objections?"

* * *

**Reviews are always welcome.**


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer: I do not own Glee or any of its characters.**

* * *

Jeff sat at his desk by his window, staring at the maple tree outside his window. A bird he couldn't identify was building a nest at a fork of a flimsy looking branch. It was hopping about, trying to fit in a twig into the mess called a nest. Poor fella doesn't know that the twig might snap at any given time, especially with the eggs coming in later.

_crack_

The blond singer recoiled, taken aback by the sudden noise in his face. Squinting his brown eyes, he scrutinized the window panes that made up the window. On the third frame, there was a spider web thin crack appeared on a pane, barely visible in the sunlight. But it was there, alright: a crack.

Which bastard would throw _a stone_ at my window? At least have the brains to pick a pebble off the driveway, moron, Jeff raged in his head. He could leave the window as it was, but if left to the elements, the crack might expand and his desk sitting beneath the window would have shards of glass if the window were to shatter one day. He got up from his desk, determined to give the stone-throwing idiot a piece of his British mind.

He ran down the stairs and out the back door, where he almost tripped over a piece of tarp. Or so he thought was a tarp cover. On his knees, he cautiously and slowly pulled away the tarp to reveal a copper birdcage complete with a little bird swing and matching bird feeds for water and seeds. The bottom of the cage was lined with old newspapers. Upon picking up the cage, he noticed that the bronze plating that lined the bottom exterior of the cage had an engraving of the words _inspirare per canticum, traditionem, familia et amicis, et super omnes, amor._

"To inspire through song, tradition, family and friends, and above all, love," Jeff mumbled as he read the inscription.

Then he heard a small chirp. "Pavarotti?" Jeff whispered to the cage, where a canary perched on the little swing, fluffing its feathers. He scrutinized the bird sceptically. The colour of its feathers was the exact same shade, the beak about the same size, and there was the dark detailing on its tail feathers. But it couldn't be-

"It's Pavarotti Junior, actually," a voice said off ways to Jeff's left.

Jeff looked up upon recognizing the voice of the speaker. His eyes widened at the sight of The Dalton Academy Warblers standing on the adjacent veranda in two straight lines, in their blazers, _in the blazing heat_.

Blaine took a step forward, a gentle look on his face. "Jeff Warbler, we know you're hurting, and we know you blame yourself for Arianna's actions-"

"Arianna, what a bitch," Nick interjected. "Demented and off her ro-"

"Shut up, Nick," came a few loud whispers. Someone thumped Nick at the back of the head, who cried out in pain.

"We just want you to know that we'll always be here for you, rain or shine," Blaine continued as if Jeff's best friend hadn't interrupted him. "You will always have us to turn to when there is no one else around-"

"-especially Nick!"

"Hey!" the brunette protested. "He's _my_ best friend!"

The lead soloist laughed along with the group. Jeff could only kneel rooted to the spot, clutching the birdcage to his chest as Pavarotti Jr. twitted. His eyes had gone wider, still wondering why his teammates were standing in his backyard, babbling nonsensically.

Blaine said gently, "You will _always_ have us, okay, Jeff?"

Jeff could only nod, open-mouthed. He was about to say something in response, but Wes cleared his throat loudly. "Ahem, _Blaine_," he coughed into a fist.

Blaine turned back to Jeff, wan smile on his face. "One more thing: Wes is sorry about cracking the crack on your window." He grinned.

"It's the dodge ball trainings. Sorry, Jeff!," Wes apologized, rubbing the back of his neck. He offered the blond an apologetic smile, eyes crinkling at the corners.

"Shall we, guys?" asked Blaine. It was directed to the Warblers. A few boys in formation nodded, grinning at a very confused Jeff kneeling on the back porch. The soloist then stepped back into line, between Joey and Flint. The a cappella group then opened their mouths, a beautiful melody swelling in the air as they harmonized the opening of a song together.

_"You're not alone, together we stand,__  
__I'll be by your side, you know I'll take your hand__  
__When it gets cold__, a__nd it feels like the end,__  
__There's no place to go;__  
__You know I won't give in.__  
__No, I won't give in. . . ._"_  
_

The two straight lines of singers then spaced out to the length of the back porch, but all surrounding the stunned blond on the wooden floor. Pavarotti Jr. chirped in response to the singing boys. Blaine stepped out to stand in front of Jeff, offering a hand. Jeff took the proffered hand and felt Blaine pulling him up to a stand. So he stood in the middle of his teammates, eyes brimming with unshed tears.

What had he done to deserve such a supportive group of friends?

"_Keep holding on,__  
__'Cause you know we'll make it through, we'll make it through._"

Nick stepped out from his place and approached his best friend. Jeff met him halfway and was engulfed in a hug. A hug that spoke beyond words. A hug that told him "Hey, I'm your best friend, and I'm here for you." One gesture that was worth more than the words in the dictionary. A hug from a best friend.

"_Just stay strong,__  
__'Cause you know I'm here for you, I'm here for you._"

Wes and David took Nick's place after the latter had taken a step back into his place. The two best friends in front of Jeff now wore smiles on their faces, and Jeff couldn't help but return the smile as the three gathered in a group hug. Council of the Warblers or not, they were still friends. David clapped Jeff on the back while Wes patted him on the shoulder.

"We're here for you, man," said David. The two returned to their positions and resumed harmonizing while Blaine sang.

"_There's nothing you could say,__  
__Nothing you could do,__  
__There's no other way when it comes to the truth._"

The next person to step out of formation was Kurt. He smiled gently at Jeff. "I may not have known you for long, Jeff, but you deserve better; everyone deserves to be happy," Kurt whispered to Jeff. They hugged, and Jeff nodded into Kurt's neck.

"Thank you, Kurt."

"_So keep holding on,__  
__'Cause you know we'll make it through, we'll make it through._"

After the last note, the only thing Jeff could do was stand rooted to the spot, holding the birdcage to his chest. A silent tear trickled down his cheek; he was definitely touched by the song, the performance, the well wishes. Never had he imagined the Warblers would do something like this, after the big fiasco that was the "Gap Attack."

His team, his friends, _his family_.

"I love you guys," he managed to choke out. His throat was blocked, but he smiled through the tears threatening to spill from his brown eyes.

"Gay," said Nick with a loud chuckle.

Simultaneously, the group stepped in and they all pulled into a group hug.

. . . . .

Pavarotti Jr. sat perched on the swing in his cage, in Jeff's room. The birdcage was hanging from a bird stand, courtesy of Kurt. The previous caretaker of the traditional and iconic bird, Kurt Hummel, had kept Pavarotti Sr.'s -may he rest in peace- stand, in any case of a replacement warbler, a successor to Pavarotti Sr. For good measure, Kurt had also thrown in the Burberry cage cover. He had refused to admit that he didn't have a use for the cover anymore.

Three days prior, during the 'Jeff-tervention' meet, the Warblers had decided to dig into their club funding to buy another customary warbler. Jon had voiced out that they should have a successor to Pavarotti and allow Jeff to care for it as a distraction from his horrible week. Everyone had immediately agreed, some even shouting over each other to go to the aviary to select and purchase a bird.

Cooper and James were the ones to buy the copper birdcage. It had been Cooper's idea to engrave the Latin phrase on the bottom of the cage in hopes that it'll cheer Jeff up besides to inspire and pull him out of solitude.

Currently, the little songbird was whistling its tune along to Jeff strumming on his acoustic guitar, singing to R5's _Say You'll Stay_. Jeff allowed a small smile as he watched the bird flit about, hopping from perch of perch. It had been a while since he was given the task to take care of the Warbler's mascot of sorts.

He agreed with Jon: caring for Pavarotti will keep his mind off of things in the past, though everyone knew that Jeff will definitely not forget.

He stopped playing.

"Arianna, I promise I won't forget you and your memory, and those happy moments we had together. But it's time I stopped grieving over you," he sighed, head hung low over his guitar. He looked up, gaze fixated to a section of a wall across the room where Arianna's picture was tacked before he took it down. "Goodbye, Ari," Jeff said to the wall.

He then leaned the guitar onto the many guitar stands that stood resolutely at a corner of his bedroom. Sighing, he filled up Pavarotti Jr.'s water bowl, said a silent prayer to Arianna and fell facedown into bed.

Jeff reached out to click off the bedside lamp. "Thank you, fellow Warblers, for being there even though I didn't need you to be," he mumbled to the ceiling as he flipped over.

Somewhere in the darkness, Pavarotti chirped in response and settled down for the night, a last twit into the night. Jeff fell into a deep slumber, feeling more relaxed he had been all week, as if a great weight had been lifted off his shoulders since his return from London.

. . . . .

Jeff was hit with a blast of coffee-tainted air the minute he stepped through the doors of The Lima Bean. He immediately headed towards the section that was dominated by high school students such as he. It was an unspoken regulation that the teenagers sat at the back of the coffee house, since it had been 'their' area since the opening of the establishment, but anyone could sit anywhere they wanted to. It was just that the younger adults preferred to be at the back. To Jeff, it was like a high school stereotype where jocks would sit with their fellow jocks in the school cafeteria; a homogenous clique of sorts, if you will.

He scanned the room for the familiar long blonde until a golden blur appeared in front of him just as he was about to pull out his cell. "Hi, Jeff," chirped the girl in front of him. She sported a pixie cut and hazel-green eyes. Wait a minute, those eyes are really familiar-

"Quinn?" he gaped.

She _cut_ her hair. What the hell had happened in New York? Jeff thought as his eyes studied her face. She was beaming up at him, her eyes shining.

She pulled him into a hug as a greeting. He wrapped her arms around her in return and breathed in the scent of her shampoo: watermelon. He loved it straightaway. Hold up, how did I so quickly identify it as _watermelons_? I don't even like watermelons, he frowned internally. His tummy did that weird flippy thing, but it wasn't hunger.

"How are you coping?" Quinn asked as she led them to a secluded booth in the corner of The Lima Bean. "You never replied my text for a week plus; I thought you didn't want to see me. But Kurt told me you weren't doing too well either."

Beautiful Quinn. So concerned, kind, gentle. Jeff didn't know how to answer her. Her presence itself was overwhelming him.

"It's okay, you don't have to answer me now," said Quinn, placing a gentle hand over Jeff's. "I'll buy you a drink, alright? Stay here." As if he'd be anywhere else in the world right now, he thought as he smiled gratefully up at her.

He watched her as she stood in line, yellow sundress flowing with her every step. Jeff quickly pulled out his cell phone and dialled for Kurt.

"Go for Hummel," came the answer.

* * *

**Song used in this chapter: _Keep Holding On_ by Avril Lavigne.**

**Reviews are always welcome.**


	6. Chapter 6

**Disclaimer: I do not own Glee or any of its characters.**

* * *

"Kurt, I'm in The Lima Bean with Quinn and I haven't uttered a single word to her and she's buying me coffee right now and I don't know what to do and she's so pretty, oh, God, Kurt what have I gotten myself into," Jeff breathed into his phone in a breath, panic in his voice. His eyes were wide with bewilderment and he swore his palms were beginning to sweat a little.

"Warbler, pull yourself together!" cried the boy at the other end of the line. "I, frankly, am very disappointed in you; you're usually much more composed than this! Now tell me, what colour dress is she wearing?"

"Yellow."

"Good, compliment her on that. Say it brings out the colour of her eyes. Hair?"

"Smells of watermelon. And it's short. Like sort of a pixie cut. It suits her, you know? She looks cute," Jeff said breathlessly.

"I don't think I want to know how you knew what her hair smells of, but tell her that her hair looks even more gorgeous then the last time you saw her-"

"-I last saw her during Regionals, Kurt," Jeff deadpanned as a matter of factly.

"She cut it in New York," said Kurt bluntly.

"Yeah, I wanted to ask you about that. What _did_ happen there?"

He heard Kurt inhale sharply. "I don't know, but when I checked in on the Unholy Trinity one day, Quinn was crying, and Santana and Brittany were by her side. I didn't want to pry, so I left it at that. They must've had a very emotional talk."

"Hm," Jeff hummed in response. "Guess I better not ask about her haircut then."

"No, you do _not_ want to get involved with any girl drama right now, especially with her RWG problems.

"Wait- RWG? What is that supposed to mean?" the blond pressed on, but Kurt sounded rushed.

"Jeff. I have to go now; Blaine's taking me to the movies. Good luck, Warbler. You're on your own." The connection went dead just as he saw Quinn detach herself from the line at the counter.

. . . . .

Quinn returned with two steaming grande cups; one with coffee, the other with tea. She nudged the cup of tea towards the Warbler. "Drink. Mom always said that tea have the ability to soothe the soul," she smiled warmly. "Particularly the troubled ones." She eyed him teasingly.

Jeff took the Styrofoam cup from Quinn, warming his hands around it. He took a nervous sip. Mhmm, Earl Grey. He missed it. The familiar taste brought back memories. "So you think I'm troubled?" he attempted with a small smile.

She pretended to think for a while, head tilted upwards with eyes gazing at the ceiling. "No, not really," she finally surmised. Her eyes snapped back to his. "Just in a very dark place, I suppose."

He feigned hurt. "If I'm not troubled, then I must be lost? Is that what you're saying?"

Quinn frowned, a deep indent between her carefully plucked eyebrows. "No-"

"I was just pulling your leg," he laughed. "Calm down." He grinned at her. Inside, he was secretly praising himself for successfully suppressing his nervousness and starting a conversation with her so easily. He didn't even need Kurt's advice earlier- at least, not yet. The time will come, he supposed.

"Thanks for seeing me, Quinn." Jeff said after a while.

"Oh, Jeff, I called you out here," she replied. Quinn took a delicate sip on her drink. Setting it down, she pressed on. "How are you holding up?"

Jeff let out a big sigh. "It's been a hard two weeks for me, I guess." He squeezed his eye shut, engulfing his vision in darkness. "I keep thinking about her-" Arianna's face unwillingly flashed behind his eyelids again. "The look on her face when she said those last few words to me-" Her last words echoed in his ears, also unwilling. _You never looked at me the way you look at that pretty girl, Jeff._ He buried his face in his hands. "I just don't understand!" he cried out softly into his hands.

He felt soft hands gently prying apart his own hands from his face. "Don't beat yourself up for that, Jeff," he heard the gentle voice say. He met her steady gaze. "Some people do crazy things when they are in love."

That line struck a chord in his brain. He frowned. "Hold up- Isn't that a line from Disney's _Hercules_?" The red that tinted her cheeks confirmed his suspicion. Jeff couldn't help but grin at her being caught red-handed. "You stole a line from a _Disney_ movie!"

The blushing girl narrowed her eyes at him. Then, "People quote from movies, too, you know!" she protested. Her eyes widened as she harboured a thought, a smirk on her lips. "Wait a minute- How would _you_ know it's from a Disney movie? Of all movies, you accurately said it was from _Hercules_."

It was Jeff's turn to blush a deep scarlet now. How is he going to explain himself now? You can't very well tell her; it'll only embarrass yourself! Cover up, Sterling! said the devil on his right shoulder. Why not? If she actually quoted from a movie you love, she must love it just as much to steal a line from it, too, right? Besides, what do you have to lose? countered the angel on his left. The devil _poof_ed, and the angel chuckled. Go for it, boy.

"It's, um, ah-" He tried buying some time for himself, but the impatient girl across him was waiting for a form of response.

She raised an eyebrow. "It's what?"

"_Hercules_ is one of my favourite Disney movies," he blurted out softly. He hoped that she had suddenly developed a hearing problem and had missed his confession.

Unfortunately, she caught every word that left his lips because she burst out in laughter. He coloured to the scalp. "You- you love _Hercules_," she managed to choke out in between peels of laughter. A snort escaped her as she covered her mouth with a hand.

Jeff huffed, cheeks puffed out. "It's not _wrong_."

"And you're not denying that you love that show, either." She snickered again.

They sat together at The Lima Bean for two hours, conversing about everything and anything there is to talk about. Their easy and casual conversation brought many different views and aspects to their topic of conversation, and never once have either of them were at a loss of words on what to say.

It was better than what Jeff had expected.

. . . . .

Jeff was bored. He had already filled and refilled Pavarotti Jr.'s feed and water bowls _twice_, rearranged the furniture in his room only to rearrange them back to their original positions, cleaned the kitchen (much to his chagrin, but he decided to do his mum a favour), strummed on the bass and acoustic guitars while coming up with an original song. You name it, he's done it.

Jeff Sterling was never bored in his whole life. Back home in London, he would always have something to do, be it hanging out in his friend Jerry's dad's pub playing darts all afternoon or simply studying questionnaires in the game _Trivia_ (yes, Jeff was a huge nerd, having the need to know everything there is to know in the world). This is something new, he thought to himself as he dropped down onto his repositioned bed.

He switched on the radio clock by his bedside, closed his eyes as R5's _Without You_ replaced the silence that was his room. Jeff opened his mouth and sang along to the simple, yet meaningful lyrics. Before he could start, he clamped his mouth shut: _Without You_ was his and Arianna's song.

He called Quinn.

"_Hello?_" came the questioned greeting when she picked up the phone. He noted, with surprise, at her tone of voice; she sounded bored as well, if he could read it right.

He studied his face in the mirror. His nose was scrunched, mouth hanging open. How attractive I must be. "I'm bored. Can we do something?" Jeff whined into the receiver.

. . . . .

They met at the park between Lima and Westerville. The sun was shining brightly, filtered by the leaves on the trees, letting out enough light for a warm weather with a hint of light breeze. It was ultimately the most perfect Saturday afternoon Jeff had experienced so far upon moving to Ohio.

She was still wearing the yellow sundress from where they met at the Lima Bean.

Jeff approached her. "I couldn't help but notice that you sounded incredibly bored over the phone earlier," he deadpanned. "You only had to let me know that you wanted to hang out more after having coffee, you know," he added with a grin. Jeff knew he was being cheeky.

Quinn threw her head back and laughed lightly, a harmonious sound like two wine glasses clinking at the right places. "Oh, _very_ smooth, Sherlock. Nice try, but as I recalled, you were the one who called _me_ first, complaining at that!" She smirked behind her hand.

He was caught. He shrugged in surrender. "So what do you have in mind?" he asked.

"What do you mean?" Her eyes strayed from his and she squinted them against the sun's rays.

"I assumed you have something for us to do, and you wouldn't have called me to the park, right?"

"Oh, yeah!" she cried, face lighting up in recollection. "We're having a lovely weather. I have a picnic basket in my car."

. . . . .

It was a typical picnic scenario: red and white chequered blanket wide enough for two people; a wicker basket filled to the brim with sandwiches and a large pitched of lemonade, cupcakes topped with coloured frosting; and a small white vase with two stems of plucked purple wildflower in it. There were also families and couples in similar positions scattered about the park, taking full advantage of the beautiful weather. Children tossed Frisbees, dogs ran about and barked up trees, and kites dotted the blue sky.

They sat on the blanket in comfortable silence, not saying a word, yet contented with the silence between them. The two blondes nibbled gingerly on the sandwiches, sipped on the lemonades from plastic cups, stealing occasional glances at each other.

"Truth or dare?"

Quinn turned her head, perplexed. "What?"

He nodded in encouragement. He repeated his question.

She let out a small laugh. "Are you serious?"

"Yeah." He widened his eyes, hoping to look innocent.

"Truth," she replied after hesitating.

"Your biggest regret, go," he shot. It was risky, but he wanted to hear it from her own mouth, not from a mutual friend. Besides, he could learn a little bit more about her, some things that she had never told anyone before. It was a long shot, but he didn't have anything to lose, really.

The New Directioner looked away from him, glaring at the sun, and hugged her knees to her chest. It was a while before she answered him. "I've been pregnant." She still refused to meet his eyes.

Jeff figured the best reaction was shock. Of course, he'd known that she was with child before, but he wanted to empathise her, and he was a firm believer that not everyone was out for sympathy. So, he said, "That was your biggest regret?" He, too, knew that that wasn't her biggest regret, because according to Kurt, she had loved the baby so much, but knew that she couldn't take care for her while still in high school.

"No," came the quiet reply. "It was giving her up."

"Alright," he simply said. Now that he had her admitting it aloud, it was one of many topics to talk about in the future. But not a subject to broach on right now; he allowed her space to wallow in her regret.

"Truth or dare?" she asked.

"Truth." He had to be careful of what he wanted to reveal to her now. "Nothing clichéd like 'Your deepest, darkest secret', alright?" he grinned at her in attempts to lift up the mood between them.

"Fine," she said then stuck her tongue out at him. "_Your_ biggest regret, then."

This was it. He knew that she would ask the same question as he expected. So, "I've been to jail, Quinn."

* * *

**Reviews are always welcome. **


	7. Chapter 7

**Disclaimer: I do not own Glee or any of its characters.**

* * *

She was silent for at least two minutes. He knew, because he counted his heartbeats: 72 beats per minute. Okay, that was way too long for a time to receive a response from Quinn. Did he do the right thing by telling her the truth? Was it too forward, too soon? Usually people would slowly back away with a pathetic excuse so that they can avoid him.

"Um," he started. "Say something?" He was nervous, waiting for a reaction from her. Any reaction at all. Honestly, he wouldn't mind if she threw a brownie at him, as long as she responded.

Quinn gaped at him, open-mouthed. She was shocked. Who wouldn't be? Then, "I'm having a picnic with a convicted felon. Nice," she smirked sarcastically.

"It was a sma-" Wait, what? "You don't seem surprise." He gave her a sidelong glance, unsure.

Quinn stared quizzically at him and shrugged. "We're young; we do stupid things like get knocked up and go to jail. It's no big deal, really. Puck's been to juvie, too. Not so pleasant, he said."

Jeff recollected himself. "It was a small offence, nothing big though."

"Tell me. I want to hear about it." She flipped her hair nonchalantly. "Hope it's better than Puck's conviction of assault."

. . . . .

Nick was appalled. His jaw was still hanging open in shock at his best friend, the very best friend whom they shared their deepest secrets with. He couldn't believe Jeff would tell Quinn _everything_, much less before he would tell the best friend. Best friends have the immediate right to know things first! It wasn't fair!

The two Warblers were hanging out in Jeff's room. Jeff's blond hair was wet, having just come out of the shower after the confessional picnic with Quinn earlier. Nick had barged in on his best friend just as the latter was about to put on some pants ("Oh, dude, you're disgusting!" "You're the one barging into my room without knocking, you twat!").

"You're really crazy, you know that, Jeff?" the brunette said. He fiddled with the radio clock, catching the right frequency to a radio channel. The classical tinkering of piano filled the room.

Jeff flopped onto his bed, mattress creaking under the weight of the two boys. "Can't help it, mate. It's so easy to be around her, you know? Give it here," he said, snatching the radio from his friend's grip. "Classical music, really? You're growing old, mate."

A dramatic gasp. "You did not just say that!" Nick put a hand over his heart. "How you wound me with your words! It's easy for you to be around me, too, you know. _I'm_ your best friend, for Pete's sakes!" he protested.

"Do I detect a hint of jealousy in your voice, Nick?" Jeff grinned as he gave Nick a once-over. "Everything just slipped out. I didn't even have to choose the words I'm saying."

"Refresh my memory again? What exactly did you tell her?" Nick asked the ceiling.

The blonde took in a breath and started his story:

"I was fourteen. My parents were fighting downstairs, prattling on and on about the woman Dad was supposedly having an affair with. I think Mum threw a pan at him; I forgot-"

"-way to _go_, Ms Sterling!"

Jeff rolled his eyes and continued, "I put on my headphones, and did some research for a paper. It was for Social Science, I believe." Nick rolled his eyes at that. "Anyway, an ad popped up, something about working for the government. I clicked it by accident just as I was about to click the little 'X' at the corner-"

"-I know how to close a window, idiot. Doesn't take Sherlock to figure it out-"

"-but it led me to their server." Jeff continued as if Nick hadn't interrupted. "The HTML codes were all messed up, by the way. I just happened to type in a few of my codes that I came up with when I was eleven or so, and the next thing I knew, I was logged in without a username, staring at files that weren't meant for public eyes, according to the interrogators in the station. The next thing I knew was the bloody bobbies banging down my door, demanding for my arrest."

When Jeff finished his ordeal, Nick was, again, staring open-mouthed. His dark brown eyes were wide. Then a grin appeared on his lips, dark eyes glinting in the evening sunlight that streamed steadily thorough the windows.

"Jeff, my crazy British friend," Nick declared, bouncing onto his knees. He gave Jeff wide puppy-dog eyes. "Will you teach me how to hack into the Dalton files?"

. . . . .

The two best friends sat in total darkness at a corner of the Dalton Academy computer lab, with only the lone computer screen lighting the vast room. Jeff's eyes were all but hidden behind the reflection of the screen on his glasses. Nick was bent over next to Jeff who was sitting in front of the iMac. Both of them stared at Dalton Academy's student portal.

"Are you sure you want to do this, Duval?" Jeff asked his best friend sceptically. His fingers flew across the keyboard with ease.

Nick turned to his best friend. "Chickening out, Sterling?"

Jeff shook his head. "Let's do this then." With his eyes glued to the screen, the blond worked his way through the security files and dodged many firewalls, and a separate window popped up within minutes. It was a mass of numbers and texts.

"Bingo."

. . . . .

Jeff and Nick ran breathlessly into French I. They were extremely late, having spent hours in the computer lab late into the morning. Jeff had dropped his dead weight on Nick's single-bed dorm room, having earned the privilege to. Nick had locked the door behind him and simply dropped onto the couch in his room. Upon contact on the soft furniture, the two had begun snoring at the wee hours of dawn, a mere two hours before their first class started.

Madame Beausoleil stared coldly at them from her half-moon glasses and waved them to their seats at the back of the class in annoyance of having her class interrupted by two of the cheekiest boys she ever got the honour of educating. She resumed handing out their mid term results to the class. When she got to both Nick and Jeff, a rare smile was on her lips.

"_Bien fait__, les garçons_," Madame Beausoleil whispered to them. It was also very rare of her to praise her students. French is _not_ an easy subject.

Jeff gave a sideways glance at Nick and received one in return. They fist bumped under the table.

It worked.

. . . . .

_"What, what kind of fool, __  
__Tears it apart,__ l__eaving me pain and sorrow;__  
__Losing you now,__ w__ondering why,__  
__Where will I be tomorrow?__  
__What, what kind of fool, __  
__Tears it apart."_

The Dalton Academy Warblers listened to their own recording in the silence of the practice room. Many had proud grins and smiles plastered on their faces while others were simply nodding in approval at their vocal arrangements.

It was a week after the mid term report cards have been handed out to the students. The Warblers, who were expected to balance their studies and extra-curricular activities, had scored exceptionally well beyond their GPAs. One had to keep their grades up in order to be in an extra-curricular club, or they would have to give it up to focus on their studies.

Upholding your grades while being part of a well-known all-boys a cappella show choir team is _definitely_ not an easy task,

"We're amazing," Thad said, eyes shining. His hands were clasped beneath his chin.

Nick shot Thad a look. "Put your hands down unless you're letting the boys of the school know you're gay."

"I'm not gay, you di-"

"Nick, don't provoke him!" came the warning from Wes. "He's just _very_ feminine, right, Thad?" He grinned at his fellow upper class man who only glared at the two of them in response. Wes and Nick burst out laughing.

"Listen to Blaine's vocals." The attention refocused on the music again.

"Our background vocals! We're fantastic!" Jeff whooped.

"Remind me why we're singing at Gap's grand openings and at orphanages and at old folks' homes?" Steve wondered aloud. "Especially for bar mitzvahs! Who sings at bar mitzvahs nowadays anyway?" he cried.

"It all started when Blaine proposed we sing to Jeremiah at the Gap Attack. . ." Jordan piped cheerily from the leather couch at the back of the room. "We get booked for almost anything now, really, if you think of it."

Blaine stared daggers at Jordan who shrank back into the seat in mock terror. "You don't scare me, Blainers. Not after the failed serenade," smirked the stick-thin boy that was Jordan Carmichael.

"Jordan, don't _you_ provoke Blaine now," Wes said, not looking up from the mixer board. Such was the job of being the Warbler with the most seniority amongst a group of boys that hardly knew the meaning of being serious. "Maybe that's why I don't have a girlfriend now," he grumbled under his breath.

"What was that, Wes?" chirped David jokingly. He, of course, caught every word his best friend had muttered. "You don't have a girlfriend 'cause you're gay, too?"

"_What_?" screeched the Oriental boy. "You take that back now, Thompson! Or so help me, I will set fire to your comic book collection!" Wes shot up from his swivel chair and proceeded to chase the laughing David around the recording studio.

"Anyone noticed Jeff and Nick are super nerds now?"

"So, _anyway_," Jeff said in a loud voice in attempts to bring the attention back to the music they had just recorded. "I still dance amazing, though," he praise with a beam. He received cheers of agreement from his teammates.

Nick punched his best friend on the shoulder. "Please, my moves bring the ladies _crawling_ to me."

"No, seriously. They're getting As and Bs. Their midterms were spectacular, so to speak."

A bark of laughter. "That's coming from a boy who buries his head in books when he's not with us in the Warblers' Common Room?" laughed Luke. "I'm surprised you even know what grades they got since you're so caught up in _your_ own studies, Nel."

Silence in the room. Not even an intake of breath from anyone in the room.

"What the hell are you talking about, Nelson?" the best friends demanded of the smallest boy of the team, a challenging look in both their eyes.

Nelson Dowry took the same classes as Nick and Jeff did, and some more. He was the house nerd, although no one would dare admit it aloud. Small boys have the biggest temper after all. A few Warblers had went through Nelson's rage at the beginning of the school year when he had first transferred in after Jeff did. The dormitory common room walls were still in states of repairs.

"N-Nothing," stuttered the smaller boy. "I was simply observing-"

Nick reeled back. "You've been _observing_ us?"

"That's really creepy, dude," Luke stated bluntly. The room nodded in agreement.

"I saw- I saw the two of you in the computer lab-"

"You were _following_ us?" Jeff's face was contorted to a disgusted expression, mouth hanging open at an angle, nose scrunched up.

"I have sleepwalking issues!" burst out Nelson in defence.

"Sleepwalkers aren't aware of their surroundings most of the time. . ." David pointed out. "That's why it is categorized under plausible cause of death by medical examiners, 'cause some people just walk off building edges, you know?" He shivered for effect.

"I know what I saw! I saw them late one night!"

. . . . .

Nick and Jeff sat on an overstuffed sofa outside the dean of students' affairs' office, nervous. The blond was wringing his hands, knuckles already tinted a light shade of red. Nick was picking at the hem of his blazer.

The secretary sat resolutely at her desk, razor sharp fingernails _click clack_ing on the keyboard in rhythm. A buzzing sound came out from the intercom on her desk.

"The dean will see you both now," she announced monotonously without looking up from the computer screen.

* * *

**Song used in this story (canon): _What Kind Of Fool_ cover by The Dalton Academy Warblers.**

**Reviews are always welcome.**


	8. Chapter 8

**Disclaimer: I do not own Glee or any of its characters.**

* * *

". . . And so, the both of you are officially suspended from all Dalton Academy Warblers show choir competitions and events until further notice." Dean Duncan Fitzgerald glared menacingly at the boys seated across his mahogany desk. His slim fingers drummed a steady beat on the desktop. "Anything to add?" he added with a challenge in his voice.

Jeff shook his head. With Dean Fitzgerald, his words were law and you were expected to follow through. To go against his words is like stepping on to an active landmine. He was also an alumnus, having been in The Warblers in his schooling days in Dalton as well. He knew that the Warblers were important to each and every single member of the team, and by taking Warbler privileges from the boys seated across him, they knew he was being fair enough.

Once a Warbler, _always_ a Warbler.

"You are to focus on your studies now, as I have been lenient enough to persuade the school board not to suspend you both from your academics _and_ the Warblers. We need at least a Regional win next year, so until then, your Warbler privileges are revoked."

Since the Warblers were the pride and joy of the school, they were given special rights to skip classes to attend Warbler meets, which was at least once a week. One had to, of course, personally collect his notes and homework from the professors themselves after the meet. The school had no tolerance of plagiarism, not even when taking notes.

Besides that, Warblers are to perform for every school event held by the school, so it meant that they had to double, and sometimes, triple up their rehearsals for maximum satisfaction. That, too, was at the expense and time of the Warblers themselves. If they wanted to focus on the demanding academics, they could always drop out of the show choir team, but with they had to audition all over again if they wanted to rejoin the Warblers.

Dean Fitzgerald gave the boys a once-over each, assessing them with his sharp brown eyes. "Dismissed." With that, he returned his attention to the paperwork on his desk, not even to watch the boys exit his office.

. . . . .

The Warblers glared at the two best friends as they entered the practice room, heads hanging low. No one said a word. Wes rapped his gavel once in finality, and the Warblers all left, not saying a word to neither Jeff nor Nick. Only the three senior upperclassmen remained in their seats, also glaring, but more of disappointment than anger.

"Sit," David said as Wes pointed his gavel at two isolated seats placed in front of the heads' desk.

They sat.

"I _knew_ something was up when both of you miraculously got straight As and Bs," said Thad. He, too, were in the same classes as Nick and Jeff. "Hasn't juvie in England taught you anything, Jeff? Oh, yes. We all know," Wes nodded gravely in response to Jeff's shocked face.

How did they find out about my rap sheet from before? I was supposed to start afresh here, in the land of opportunities and whatnot, cried Jeff in his head. What is Mum going to think when she finds out about today? I'm so screwed.

"I- We. . ." Nick started.

Thad held up a hand, silencing the brunette. "No need to explain. We will try to talk to the dean on your behalf to lighten your sentence to at least three Warbler practices a week."

"You may leave," David dismissed. He sighed, shaking his head in disappointment at the two of the best singers of the team. The Warblers couldn't afford to lose Sectionals or Regionals next year, and they needed every member of the team to contribute.

They left.

. . . . .

"The only reason I won't ship you off back to London is because I don't want you near that other woman," screeched the woman by the stove. She threw the large cooking pan into the sink none too gently. It clattered against the sides of the sink. "The twins will be here as soon as they turn seventeen, like you. You're not off the hook for hacking into your school's server, Jeff," said Jeff's mother in a threatening tone.

He picked at his dinner quietly, a hearty serving of steamed vegetables and a slab of pork. A dying man's last meal.

"Your father doesn't care, by the way. He probably taught you how to hack into computers servers and change their codes, or whatever."

Jeff looked up, anger bubbling in him. He tried to simmer down his building rage, not wanting to snap at his mother who sacrificed so much to ship the two of them across the ocean. "I may not like Dad cheating on you, Mum, but he's still my Dad nonetheless. Don't blame him for my actions. Nick and I just had to do what we had to."

"You didn't _have_ to do anything!" she hissed at him. "All you both had to do was study harder than usual to maintain your grades, that was it! You didn't have to beat the system by hacking into Dalton files!"

"But-"

Mrs Sterling rolled her eyes at her dinner plate and simply said, "You're grounded, Jeff."

He opened his mouth to protest, but was silenced by his mother holding up a hand to his face. If he peered into those angry green eyes any longer, he would've bolted from the room; he was _that_ afraid of his mother.

. . . . .

A FedEx package with his name on it sat on the front porch of his house when he returned from school. He only noticed it because he had tripped himself over it when he wanted to unlock the front door. The wood of the door greeted Jeff's face, and he immediately lost all feeling of his face after that.

Grumbling about stupid doors and facial rearrangement (his nose felt smashed in), Jeff carried the wrapped box up to his room and tossed it on his bed. He took the longest shower of his life, since he had to double up his Warbler practices now that the dean had considered Wes' pleas to allow the two 'felons' (Wes' words, not Dean Fitzgerald's) to continue practicing with the Warblers, with the exception of three Warbler practices a week.

That meant up to three hours of nonstop singing and choreographing a day. Multiply that by three days a week meant nine hours. Add that with a minimum of two hours of lacrosse practices and seven hours of formal education, and the result is an overworked blond dancer.

He looked at the clock after his blessed refreshing shower: 21:54 flashed in bright red numbers. Jeff rubbed his eyes warily, dropped on his bed unceremoniously, and allowed fatigue to take over his whole being.

Thank goodness it's a Saturday tomorrow.

. . . . .

Jeff woke up to his phone buzzing noisily. It clattered against the wood of the bedside table, and he watched it bounce on the surface of the table. Just as it was on the verge of falling off, his hand shot out from beneath the covers. He caught it just in time before it hit the carpeted floor. The radio clock told him it was well past 2PM.

The LED display told him that he had several missed calls -seven, to be precise- from Quinn Fabray. There were also two text messages from her. Jeff shot out of bed, wincing as he struck a nerve at the back of his neck, and immediately dashed for the bathroom for a quick shower and to brush his teeth. He didn't even bother to reply or give Quinn a quick call for fear that she might chastise him for being forgetful. No, he would only take it from her when he is presentable.

The phone was where he had left it before he headed to the bathroom. The display told him he had received another four texts while he was freshening up.

_Have you forgotten about our date this afternoon, blonde one? xx Q_ - sent 14:43

_Jeff, are you still asleep? xx Q_ - sent 14:47

_Oh, Kurt's just told me you went home late last night. Carry on sleeping. xx Q_ - sent 14: 53

_You're lucky because I've forgotten as well. :P Oops, I'm bothering your sleep! Sorry! xx Q_ - sent 15:00

Jeff bounded down the stairs, taking two at a time. The clock hanging in the kitchen next to the refrigerator read 3:30 PM. He grabbed an orange from the fruit bowl on the island counter, peeling it as he roamed through the house, looking for his mother.

"Mum!" he shouted. "Where are you?" He peered around the corner of her office. No signs of her being in the room. He tried the den. No one.

"Mum, I'm going out!" Jeff yelled up the stairs, in case she was in her room. "Mother!" he called again after receiving no response.

"You're grounded!" his Mum screamed back. Yep, in her room for sure. "I hid the car keys, so good luck finding them, kid." He heard the door of her bedroom slam loudly, and she appeared at the top of the stairs clad in a fluffy pink bathrobe. Her hair was dripping wet. "Grounded means you're not to go anywhere in the duration of your punishment, last I checked."

"It's almost four, Mum. Why are you in a robe?"

The Sterling matriarch gave her son a bewildered look. "I allowed myself a sleep-in, alright? Notice how I didn't wake you this morning, Jeff?" Her tone suggested that it was the most obvious thing in the world for the singer but he hadn't caught on.

Jeff rolled his eyes. "Well, gee, Ma, I hadn't noticed, you know?" he smirked sarcastically. Recollecting himself, he sighed. "I'm supposed to meet Quinn this afternoon, but since you and I both overslept. . ." he trailed away, giving his mother a sheepish look, grin on his lips.

An understanding expression replaced the challenging look on Mrs Sterling's features. Grinning, she asked, "Well, what are you waiting for then?" She flapped her hands at her son, as if to shoo him away and out of the house. "It's a long drive, go, go, go!" she cried exasperatedly.

"Um, you hid the keys . . . ?"

"In the fake potted plant in the hallway," she said, pointing to the direction of the hall. "Go!" She took a threatening step down the stairs. Jeff all but ran out the front door after retrieving the car keys from the aforementioned plant.

In the car, Jeff allowed himself a massive grin. When it came to Quinn Fabray, his mother approved greatly, just by taking a glance at a picture of the New Directioner; she has always approved of Quinn, no matter what. He supposed because his mother was such a good judge of character when it comes to people, and that was why she was so fond of Quinn even though they had never met.

"Oh, I like her; she's very beautiful. She looks like the type of person who made a few bad mistakes in her life before, but she has repented, yes?" Mrs Sterling had pointed out flatly. Jeff was shocked; his mother was spot on, and he had never spoken to his mother about Quinn in depth before. She didn't say anything when Jeff told her that Quinn had been pregnant before. Instead, she simply said with a nonchalant shrug, "Like I said: stupid mistakes."

Then Jeff showed his mother videos of New Directions performing at Regionals and at Nationals in New York. "Oh, she dances so gracefully!", "The lead songstress for _Dirty Dancing_?", "She's amazing!" and "No wonder you're smitten, boy!" were some of the comments Mrs Sterling made while watching the videos. At the last comment, she had pinched Jeff's cheek in mockery, smirking at him playfully.

At last, she mentioned casually in passing to Jeff, "I'd like to meet her one day."

One day, he would. He would proudly introduce Quinn to his mother as his girlfriend someday. And when that day came, he would be the happiest boy in the world.

But for now, he must live the moment. Dressed in a powder dark navy blue shirt and jeans, he turned to the freeway that started his two-hour drive to Lima, Ohio. Since it was a Saturday evening, the roads were almost empty, save for a few cars dotting here and there.

He punched in a quick text and sent it, hoping that she would be ready as soon as he arrived in Lima. Another text to Kurt after that, he got the address of Quinn Fabray.

_Dress up for dinner, beautiful. We're going out. J._ - sent 17.38

. . . . .

* * *

**Hey, guys! I cannot say how sorry I am for updating this story so late. The thing is, I got robbed two weeks ago and the thieves got away with my bag, and the documents for Exchange were in there, among others. Thankfully, my skilled and wonderful father managed to back up the hard drive before I took it out with me that unfortunate night. Of course, it was the unedited one, but I've rewritten this chapter from memory - with a few miss and hits, but here it is!**

**Thank you all who read and review this on a weekly basis. I am truly thankful for you all. I love you guys!**

**Reviews are always welcome.**


	9. Chapter 9

**Disclaimer: I do not own Glee or any of its characters.**

* * *

He arrived at her doorstep at 6.30PM on the dot, quite worn out from the drive. He didn't show it on his face though, but he felt an immense relief when he exited his car. He had pretty much lost all feeling of his bum, and his legs were wobbling from a long period of misuse. He simply wasn't used to driving long distance with the given speed limit. Back in London, he could simply break the speed limit and not get caught- if you're lucky, of course.

Jeff checked on his reflection on the windowpane of Quinn's front door. At least I'm presentable, he smirked. His bleached blond hair couldn't be saved from the relentless wind, so he left it as it was: tousled, therefore giving it a natural messy look without being _too_ messy as if he had never bothered with a comb. He inhaled a breath, finger poised over the doorbell.

Suddenly, the door swung open to reveal a girl looking stunningly amazing in a white cocktail slip with matching elevated flats. She greeted him with a soft smile on her lips.

"Hello, Jeff!" she beamed at him. "I saw your car pull up, so I-"

"Quinn, you look amazing," Jeff cut her off. Dude, that was rude! Why did you interrupt her? he scolded himself in his head. Then he mentally kicked himself.

The blonde girl laughed, melodious and casual. "Thank you. You don't look so bad yourself," she returned. She smiled the smile that Jeff had first fell in love with. He offered an arm to her, and she put it at the crook of his arm. He walked her to the car, a pristine white Toyota Prius that he shared with his mother. For now.

Time for the most romantic evening she's ever had, Jeff thought to himself, grinning, as he deposited her in the passenger seat of his car.

. . . . .

Jeff took her to BreadstiX, the nearest eatery that allowed Quinn to show herself off. Even though it was a stretch of his budget, he knew he had to make some sacrifices. Girls like Quinn expected to be treated to the best things in life, so he had to prepare himself now, right? Better late than never, he had told himself earlier. She was to be pampered and fawned over, as she expects it. He also knew she liked to be seen, liked the spotlight on her. He daren't admit it aloud, but. . . Rich, white girl problems.

However, when they arrived, she wore a frown on her face when she realised where he took her.

"What's wrong, Quinnie?" Oh, _shit_. Slip of the tongue, he grimaced to himself in his head. Jeff was mentally banging his head against an imaginary wall in his head continuously at the nickname he just gave her. What possessed you to say that? I don't know! It just slipped out. He was fighting with himself in his head again.

However, the name that her mother used to call her when she was younger was lost to her as she stared longingly into the popular establishment that was the restaurant. Quinn hesitated before answering the window of the passenger's side. "Nothing, really. Let's go in," she said quickly. If Jeff had known any better, he could've sworn he heard a hint of disappointment in her voice.

"Aww," he mock- whined as he playfully prodded her arm. Grinning, he added, "C'mon, you can tell me, Blondie. If you don't feel like eating here, you just have to say so." He shrugged.

She laughed melodiously, nonchalantly. "You're calling me names now, are you? At least I'm not British." Quinn stuck her tongue out at him as the car behind them honked. "Oops," she breathed as she turned around in her seat to face the driver behind their car. "Sorry!" she called out with a wave.

"You know they can't hear you. . ."

She stuck her tongue out at him again. "At least I had the courtesy of apologising. And here I thought you British are much more polite."

"Alright, Blondie. You've had your say: no BreadstiX tonight, then," Jeff said, pulling out from the parking lot. He wound down his side of the window and waved in apology to the driver behind them. "Our date tonight will be a surprise now," he absently added, catching her attention again.

From the corner of his eye, he saw Quinn roll her eyes playfully with a smile on her lips. He smiled internally, heart soaring. He made her smile!

"By the way, being British _and_ blonde is a gift," he said, winking at her.

. . . . .

The car ride to their next destination was the best Jeff had ever experienced with Quinn so far. He and Quinn spent the time talking about their past lives, what happened before he went to juvie and before she was pregnant. They talked about their favourite movies, found out that they were both avid readers (both preferred crime thriller fiction) as well as self-proclaimed authors (they had published a few stories on a website called ). Their favourite colours were blue and white; they disliked clichéd movies like _Romeo & Juliet_ and _Titanic_; she plays the violin, he prefers heavy bass.

"Oh, my God. It's been one and a half hour drive." Quinn stated, pointing at the glowing green numbers on the digital clock on the dashboard of the car. "_Where_ are you taking me, Warbler?" she demanded.

Jeff chuckled heartily, then sobered up almost immediately. "To your death place," he answered simply, his voice serious. He stared straight ahead at the road, fighting to maintain his composure.

He heard her take in a breath, but let it out as soon as it went in when she realised he was joking. She slapped his shoulder. "Seriously, though. It's like we're driving back to Westerville."

"We are." He sped up his car. "And I told you it was a surprise, so don't expect me to tell you where we're heading to, Blonde one."

"Fine." She crossed her arms, staring out the window.

"Don't you dare sulk on me now," he warned her. Since the conversation was going nowhere, he decided to tell her of his most recent happenings and going ons in his life. "And did you know I'm reduced to three Warbler practices a week?"

She whipped her head around, face perplexed. But it was mostly bewilderment that marred her pretty features. "What happened?!" she demanded again with a small cry. "You didn't lose Pavarotti, did you?" She knew that any mistreatments of the Warblers' own mascot were subjected to the counsel's punishment. Kurt had been no exception before; he had accidentally left the cage unlatched, and the bird had flown freely around the Warbler's common room. The boys had to spend their two-hour allotted meeting time catching the canary that was flitting around the massive room.

"What? No, no, no. None of that. Pav's safe in my dorm room; Nick's taking care of him for now," he explained to her.

"Then what happened?"

And so, Jeff told her his story as he drove.

. . . . .

It was about 8PM when they arrived at Rita's Roller-skating Rink in downtown Westerville. Jeff had parked across the street from the rink. Loud, pounding bass music could be heard from across the street where they stood on the pavement. The facade of the large domed building was flashing with neon lights, bright and blinding at the same time. The establishment boasted of snacks, beverages, bowling alleys, pool tables, foosball tables, and of course, the rink itself.

Quinn was gaping at the building front with wide interesting eyes, not once blinking at the flashing neon lights. Jeff had shaded his eyes against the colours, head throbbing from the lights.

He noticed she was looking down at the cement pavement, sceptical. "What wrong?" Jeff asked with a frown. Did she not like roller skating? Hadn't she hinted for a more different date night with him? Jeff was confused, and his mind was in a frenzy trying to figure out what she really wanted. He, after all, wanted this to be the perfect date for both her and himself.

"I'm wearing heels, Jeff. And I'm not dressed for roller skating," Quinn pointed out bluntly. She gestured to her white ballet flats.

Oh. Nothing to worry about, he reassured the anxious part of his mind.

Jeff took her hand in his, tugging her towards the building. "I don't care," he smiled cheekily at her. "I'm sure we can work something out once we're inside, right?"

They walked into a dark circular, dome-shaped room, complete with the clichéd disco ball rotating on the ceiling that was throwing reflected lights everywhere. The rink itself was on the level beneath them, where patrons of all ages could be seen skating around, some flailing wildly, a few flitting around and weaving in between patrons as if they'd been doing it all their lives. A balcony provided the view of the rink from the mezzanine. Random, mismatched furniture were place strategically on the level where the patrons enter the building.

"This is like a rink April Rhodes bought in Lima, only bigger." Jeff heard Quinn mumble to herself above the loud music. She was looking around in child-like fascination.

As he smiled to himself, Jeff walked to the other end of the room towards the DJ's booth unbeknownst to Quinn who was still taking in the atmosphere, leaning over the railings of the balcony to get a closer look at the rink below. "I'll be right back," he told her. He only received an absent nod from the fascinated blonde girl.

He entered the booth, not at all bothered with knocking. Jeff waited for the bored customary greeting, as he always had before he spoke. "Sorry, no admittance besides staff," the woman operating the turntables and machinery Jeff couldn't identify announced. The way she said it was as if she had been telling it to many others during her time there; bored and monotonous. She had a hint of Irish accent to her voice as well.

"Is that how you greet your nephew, _aintín_?" Jeff chuckled, crossing his arms across his chest.

The heavyset woman looked up from the dials and buttons in recognition. Realisation dawned in her bright green eyes when she saw Jeff standing by the tinted glass door. "Jeff, m'boy!" she boomed with a laugh, throwing her hands up in the air. "What a lovely surprise!" She pulled him into a hug so tight that he almost ran out of breath, since he was laughing so much at his aunt's reaction.

"I've missed you, too," he said, wrapping his arms around her in return. They let go of each other; she had her hands clasped on his shoulder at an arm's length as she appraised him. "I hope I'm not disturbing." He looked apologetic.

She waved a hand nonchalantly. "Nonsense, m'boy. You're always welcomed here," she brushed him off. "Now let me look at you." The stout woman shifted her nephew from side to side. "You're terribly skinny, lad." She slapped his right cheek then pinched it. "Your mother hasn't been feeding you? Being bullied in school over lunch money? The dogs been stealing your food?"

Jeff laughed at his aunt's dramatics. Shaking his head, he said, "No, _aintin_; my school doesn't tolerate bullying, and there are no dogs around. Mum's been feeding me well enough."

"So what is it?" she demanded.

"Relax, _aintin_," he reassured her with a laugh as he gently pried his aunt's fingers from his face. "I brought someone," said Jeff, a gentle and shy smile on his face.

His aunt returned the smile brightly. "It's a girl, yes? I heard about Arianna, by the way; I'm sorry, kiddo." She punched his arm lightly. "I hope this next girl isn't as mental. But she's not, am I right? You like her very much."

Jeff smiled even wider. "She's just a friend, Aunt Rita."

"Nonsense! You don't call her your friend if you're dating her!" Rita scolded him. "Bring your girlfriend in here. Now, please." With that, he was gently shoved out the glass door.

* * *

**Reviews are always welcome.**


	10. Chapter 10

**Disclaimer: I do not own Glee or any of its characters.**

* * *

Jeff promptly left the DJ's booth at his aunt's insistence only to find Quinn seated gingerly on an overstuffed armchair. Her eyes were still wide with fascination and awe, mouth agape as she watched what seemed to be an ongoing roller skating contest between two middle schools.

"Sorry for ditching you, sweets," Jeff whispered into her ear when he sneaked up beside her. He laughed when she jumped a mile high in her seat, startling her from watching the contest of sorts. He earned a hard smack from her on his shoulder as a result. Wincing and rubbing the sore sport, he quickly apologised. "Sorry," he mumbled. "Remind me not to scare you again. You girls are very painful." He received another smack.

Smirking in satisfaction, she returned her focus to the rink below. "Those four boys in red down there," Quinn said, pointing politely with her thumb. "They're quadruplets!" Her hazel green eyes followed the four boys as they skated and dodged their opponents. They formed a human chain, arms linked, and toppled their opponents as if they were bowling pins. "And they work so well together!"

Jeff studied the aforementioned boys. They really were identical, down to the last strand of hair matted with sweat on their foreheads. If the lighting didn't betray him, he could've sworn that they had similar scatters of freckles across their cheeks. That's amazing, he thought. He watched them for a bit, having reminded of his twin brothers back at home, before taking her hand, jostling her out from her reverie, and pulled her up to her feet. "There's someone I'd like you to meet."

"Hm?" she hummed in question. Smoothing down her dress, she stood up. "Who is it?"

He simply grinned at her in response. "Someone really special to me, besides Mum and my brothers" was his simple explanation.

Jeff took his date's hand in his. He led her to the secluded DJ's booth at the back of the commercial lounge. Before he could push the tinted glass door open, he felt a tug on his hand. He looked back to see Quinn appraise him with shocked wide eyes.

"What is it?" he queried.

Her gaze shifted from him to the door he was standing in front of. "You can't simply waltz in there! Look," she said, gesturing to the plastic notice drilled on the notice board by the door. "'Employees and authorised personnel only,'" she read aloud.

Jeff gave her a look. A look that suggested that she was either crazy, or he was bold and brazen enough to simply barge into anywhere he wanted to _when_ he felt like it. She narrowed her eyes at his expression.

"Let's just go in."

"No," she countered. "I don't want to get into trouble!"

Suddenly, the door behind Jeff swung open to reveal his Aunt Rita. The two blondes whipped around in surprise. Her face was flustered and red, as if she had been struggling with something. Her arms were on her hips. "Are you two quite finished squabbling? I can barely hear myself think in there!" she cried in exasperation.

"What are you talking about, _aintin_?" Jeff deadpanned, expression bored. "You play music in there on maximum volume, and you can hear us?" He was gesturing at the speakers that were fixated on the ceiling at precise intervals. "You're exaggerating!"

The stout woman's body then shook; she was chuckling in laughter. "Oh, alright, Jeffers; you caught me. I was standing by the door listening in on you two," the redhead admitted. "Honestly, you two!" she chided, head shaking from side to side. Collecting herself, Jeff's Aunt Rita focused her attention to the amused blonde New Directioner. "You must be his lovely girlfriend he has been telling me about."

Jeff ran over to his shorter aunt's side and clapped a hand over her mouth to silence her. The woman's eyes widened at her nephew's sudden actions. "_Aintín_!" he cried in bewilderment as he felt his cheeks warm up. At least the lighting in the booth was dim enough. But did his beloved aunt really just _say_ that aloud? Families are always so embarrassing! Jeff groaned internally to himself. Honestly, the nerve of some people nowadays. . .

Aunt Rita and Quinn burst out in laughter simultaneously. The former was doubled over in wheezing laughter, hands on her knees. Quinn simply guffawed at him, quite unladylike, but he was simply too embarrassed to take note.

"Oh, Jeff, m'boy," his aunt managed to say in between breaths. "Don't look so flustered! Your embarrassment is just-"

"- a source of entertainment to the both of you!" he finished the sentence in a huff.

As if on cue (or to spare Jeff any more chiding from his aunt), Quinn cleared her throat. Aunt Rita turned to her. "Glad to meet you. I'm-" Quinn started, offering a hand. Aunt Rita gently took it between her own.

"Lucy Quinn Fabray from Lima, Ohio. Previously the head cheerleader, now dating my nephew. I think I like you already," Aunt Rita smiled warmly, eyes sparkling knowingly. She nodded at their hands clasped together in a hand shake.

Jeff studied Quinn's face; from a smile, to shock, to realization, then mild surprise. She tried to hide the onslaught of emotions crossing her pretty face, but failed terribly. He needed to reassure her that his aunt wasn't a-

"Jeff Sterling, you didn't tell her about me?" scolded Aunt Rita, wagging a finger at Jeff scoldingly.

He held up both his hands up in defence. "I brought Quinn here on a surprise, _aintín_!"

"Tell me what?" Quinn interjected, wonder in her big hazel eyes.

Aunt Rita turned to Quinn, a big wide smile on her bubbly face. "I'm psychic, my dear. I can see the future," she simply explained with a proud grin.

Jeff groaned at his aunt's bluntness. "You did _not_ just say that!"

"And why shouldn't I have?" countered the woman, hands on her hips.

"Because- because-" He didn't know how to politely tell off his aunt in front of the girl he had a huge crush on without coming off as rude and disrespectful to his elders. "Um-"

"That's right," Aunt Rita said. There was a hunt of smugness in her voice. "Better her hear it from me than you."

Quinn only looked back and forth from the arguing nephew and aunt in amusement, smile playing on her lips. He knew she didn't know what to believe right now.

. . . . .

The both of them rollerbladed around the rink, hand in hand, because Jeff still couldn't manoeuvre himself, to which Quinn had burst out in fits of giggles when he told her earlier. Aunt Rita had lent her white rollerblades to Quinn to "match her pretty white dress." The woman had insisted.

"Honestly, Jeff, for someone whose aunt owns a rollerblading rink, you sure suck at it," Quinn had remarked when he was flailing around hopelessly. The adults redirected their children around the blonde boy; his limbs were _flying_ about everywhere.

After some time stumbling around, he had managed to come to a stand still in front of a very patient Quinn. Putting his hands on his hips, he retorted coolly, "As you know, I do not have the time and privilege to come here often ever since studying at Dalton. And on the rare occasions that I do, I'm at the bowling alley downstairs," he informed her as-a-matter-of-factly.

"Come on, I'll help you," Quinn then had offered kindly, extending a hand for him to take. He took her proffered hand, and she led them both in a slow and rhythmic round around the rink.

"Whatever you do, Warbler, don't fa-"

Her sentence went unfinished as Jeff unceremoniously crashed into her, bringing both of them surging to the polished hardwood floor. Quinn was pinned down under Jeff's body. Groaning, he hoisted himself up to rest on his shoulders to look down at her. She was laughing in small intakes of breaths; it was contagious, so he laughed, too.

"I'm sor-" he started.

He was interrupted by a chubby face appearing at his side. "Are you two okay?" the concerned little boy queried with innocent wide eyes. He was squatted by the fallen two. Jeff noticed that he wasn't slipping around on his rollerblades. Lucky kid; so young and able to balance himself on his skates like a pro. Unlike me, he grimaced to himself. Bested by a child!

The blonde couple stared at the little boy, looked at each other, and burst out laughing again. "Yes, we are little one. We're fine. This bad man crashed into me," Quinn said, shoving Jeff off her none too gently. "He can't roller skate around like you can." She received a beaming smile from the toddler.

The little boy with dirty blonde hair broke into an even wider smile if it were possible, revealing two missing front teeth. "Thank you."

Quinn stood up effortlessly on her skates. The little boy quickly slipped his chubby little hand in hers as they both watched Jeff try to stand up straight, but obviously failing with every try. After his third try, Quinn was breathless with laughter by the time he successfully got to his feet, arms gripping the metal railing that lined the inner rink.

"Well, that took longer than I expected," Quinn admitted with a smirk.

Jeff only glared at her in response. "Sure," he said flatly. "Laugh at me, why don't you?"

She offered him a hand after a heartbeat, to which he gratefully accepted. The little boy just stared at Jeff, head tilted back to its maximum, taking in Jeff's height. Quinn giggled at the boy's intrigue.

"Where's your mum, little one?" Quinn asked the little boy, brushing his softly.

He shrugged his chubby little shoulders. "Around. My name is Kevin. And you're pretty," he bluntly stared. He smiled his toothy grin again.

"Let's buy you a milkshake, Kevin," said Quinn, glancing at Jeff who nodded with a smile. The little boy's smile widened.

. . . . .

"Oh, my _gosh_."

Jeff turned a full 360 at the familiar voice. Quinn, having easily identified the speaker's voice, immediately jumped up from her seat, ran to Kurt, and wrapped him in a tight hug. She didn't let go even after he did.

"Kurt!" she exclaimed happily, face splitting into a grin. "You're here! I _swear_, it's been ages since I last saw you; it's been so long!" Quinn gushed, excited. "How are things at Dalton? I have _so_ much to tell you."

"I _know_," the feminine boy only nodded in agreement, just a little bit distracted at Kevin who was staring open-mouthed at Kurt. "It's just that the curricular at Dalton has been up my ass ever since, and what with the crash course- Have you both gotten busy, Quinn?" He gestured to the toddler when he received a questioning look from Quinn. "Warbler, you have some explanation to do," he said to Jeff.

Kevin smiled brightly, and chirped, "I'm Kevin!"

Kurt stooped over so that he was at eye level with the boy. "I'm Kurt. Do you know you have a milkshake moustache, young man?" he asked. Kevin shook his heard vigorously.

"Oops." Quinn rushed over and wiped Kevin's mouth with a tissue.

"Oh, my _God_. Jeff, you have some explanation to do," another voice cut in.

Jeff turned to see the Dalton Academy Warblers, led by Blaine, gathered behind Kurt, a look of shock plastered on all their faces. He laughed, leaned into Quinn and whispered into her ear. To any third party, it would seem that he was just giving her a quick peck on the cheek, but the blonde Warbler was scheming.

"Hi, guys!" Jeff greeted his friends pleasantly. "Have you met Quinn?"

* * *

**One million and one apologies for the lateness of this chapter; university has been a killer what with the assignment submissions and video shooting for a project and the dancing for performing arts. Gosh, you don't even want to know the rest of it.**

**Please forgive me and accept this chapter as an apology.**

**Reviews are always welcome.**


	11. Chapter 11

**Disclaimer: I do not own Glee or any of its characters.**

* * *

Blaine raised a hand up in the air as if he were answering a teacher's question in class. "_I've_ met Quinn," he volunteered. "And personally, she doesn't look at all ready to be a mum. No offense, Quinn," Blaine said, eyebrows raised in scepticism.

"That was a compliment, but none taken, Anderson." Quinn put her left hand up to her mouth and laughed her musical laugh. "Thank you," she smiled.

"Oh, my _God_. Is that an _engagement ring_?" Kurt exclaimed, pointing. He clapped his hands and bounced on the balls of his feet. "This is _so_ romantic."

Blaine appraised his boyfriend. "Really, Kurt? This is only their- what? First date? _That_ can't be an engagement ring." He focused his attention back to Jeff. "Right, Jeff?"

The blonde Warbler simply grinned and rubbed the back of his neck in mock guilt. "Well. . ."

"Are you for real, Jeff?" "You've got to be kidding me." "You guys just met each other recently!" the rest of The Warblers were protesting in loud voices behind Kurt and Blaine. Nick was silent, but he was glowering at his best friend with hard, angry eyes. His arms were crossed in front of his chest, jaw set. Jeff pretended not to notice his simmering best friend.

Jeff stood next to Quinn and put his hands around her shoulder. They looked at each other, small smiles on their faces. Their auras oozed love.

Kurt sighed and leaned his head on Blaine's shoulder. "I am so planning their wedding."

"Quinnie," Kevin said, tugging at Quinn's dress. "Mummy's here." He pointed a chubby finger at the main entrance where a lady in yoga attire was standing smiling at the group of teenagers. She didn't seem at all worried that a large group of boys and a girl was surrounding her son as if her son had wandered off once too many times. The slender lady took that as her cue to walk over to the large group.

She smiled warmly. "Kevin tends to run around by himself. And he likes attaching himself to other people, but I guess you've figured that out already," the lady explained to the blonde pair, still smiling. "Thank you for taking care of him, uh . . ."

"Quinn. And my boyfriend, Jeff. This is the Dalton Academy Warblers." Quinn gestured to the group boys who all waved enthusiastically back at the lady.

"Thank you so much, guys," the lady thanked them all politely. She looked down at her son and said, "We should go, Kevin. Your bedtime's well over."

As if on cue, Kevin yawned loudly, mouth wide open and eyes watering up. With a last wave of his chubby hand that wasn't in his mother's grip, he waved goodbye to the pair who had bought him the milkshake. "Bye-bye, Quinnie, Jeff," he called from the entrance of the building.

. . . . .

The next day, Jeff walked down the Dalton Academy hallways alone, on the way to Math II. He had overslept his two alarms, therefore missing the first bus and had to take the second (Blaine's schedule differed from his that day). Grumbling to himself as he rounded the corner, someone shoved into him none too softly, and he fell back on the marbled floor on his bum. The culprit ran down the hall before he could register what had happened. Running footsteps echoed from the ceilings, fading after a while.

Jeff pushed himself of the ground and brushed himself off, a string of curses left his lips until a blur of two came at him. A bag went over his head, and his world was dark. He struggled against the strong pair of hands that were dragging him away. No matter how much Jeff struggled, kicked and punched, his two kidnappers didn't even ease their grips on the tall British boy.

After a moment, he gave up; he let the two drag him to an adjacent building. With his vision blinded, he tried to remember the twists and turns of the school to at least get a sense of direction where he was being dragged to. The soles of his leather shoes will need replacing after this.

"Good job, guys. You may return to your classes now. Drop him on the chair there." Jeff heard Thad's voice. I must be in the Warblers' common room, Jeff thought, groaning inwardly. What had he done wrong this time until the upperclassmen had him blinded and dragged unceremoniously across school grounds? And during school hours, no less!

He was dumped violently on a plush armchair. Someone removed the bag on his head as he heard the doors slam close. He blinked at the sudden sunlight that penetrated his brown eyes.

"What's the meaning of this?" Jeff exploded after a while, hair messed up. He heard a few chuckles from behind him. He whipped his head around to see Blaine, Flint, Trent and Ethan snickering at him, bemused smirks playing at their lips. Wes and David were leaning on the table where the both of them and Thad sat during Warbler meets. Rolling his eyes, he sank back into the armchair he was thrown on and smoothed out his hair to its customary position over his left eye.

But where was Nick?

Blaine clapped Jeff on the shoulder and said, "You have some explaining to do, Sterling."

"Yeah, what happened last night at the skating rink, Jeff?" Wes asked with inquisitive narrowed eyes. "You owe us that much of an explanation."

"Nothing happened. I brought Quinn there on a date."

"Don't lie to us, Warbler," hissed Trent. He jabbed an accusatory finger into Jeff's shoulder. The blonde winced.

Jeff was shocked. He couldn't believe his teammates, his _friends_ would have him kidnapped on the way to class _just_ to interrogate him on what happened last night. He thought they were better than that! He thought that they'd respect him and give him some space before he told them. The Warblers were close like that- they told each other everything, even if it was in their own due time.

Unless it was so personal that it couldn't be shared, of course.

But this- this _interrogation_ was too much.

"Honestly, guys. Nothing happened," Jeff pleaded his case with a whine.

The Warblers were unfazed. Many crossed their arms across their chest and gave the blonde dancer a "_c'mon, amuse me_" look.

"The rink belongs to my aunt, Rita; you guys know that, right?" He received nods from his friends. "She wanted something different than BreadstiX, so I-"

"She didn't want to go to BreadstiX," David stated bluntly. "Who doesn't want to go to BreadstiX?" he added with an exasperated cry, hands thrown in the air. "That girl is-"

"Hey!" Jeff growled. "Watch it, mate."

David winced at the ferocity in Jeff's voice. "Sorry," he mumbled, eyes lowered to the floor."

"Go on, Jeff, finish your story," said Wes.

Blaine nodded. "You brought her to Rita's. And then?"

"I introduced her to my aunt, and she lent Quinn her white skates-"

"Get on with it, Sterling!" Flint exclaimed. "Oops, sorry. I mean: pick up the pace, Jeff," he quickly corrected himself when the other Warblers present shot glares at the brunette. He shrank back into the couch where he was seated.

"The kid was purely coincidental, if that's what you guys were thinking of. He lost his mum and Quinn took him under her wing. That's all, really," Jeff explained, skipping the part when he fell on top of her because he couldn't hold his balance. Explain what? It was pretty obvious what that scenario last night was, thought Jeff with a frown.

"And the ring?"

"Oh. That." How was he going to explain to them? Jeff slowly stood up, straightening his tie. To buy himself some time, and also, to try to make a break for it. He eyed the double doors ways off to his right. His friends were paying full attention to him now, waiting, anticipating his answer. One question was evident in their minds: _What was the engagement ring about?_

"That, you guys, was, uh. . ." he stammered as he took small unnoticeable steps towards the doors. The rest didn't notice as he inched away from the armchair, though their eyes were trained firmly on him. "Quinn and I, um, ah, are. . ." Almost there, Sterling; a few more baby steps. "Catch you later, guys!"

He burst through the solid oak double doors, banging his right shoulder in the process, but he ran, leaving his book bag in the Warblers' common room. Just to get away from his inquisitive friends and teammates.

Jeff ran away from the common room as far away as his feet could carry him, allowing a triumphant bark of laughter to escape him.

. . . . .

Quinn guffawed loudly and snorted over the phone; Jeff had called her earlier that evening, just after dinner, to tell her everything that happened to him that day. She had continuously laughed for ten minutes straight, the only occasional pause to take in breaths only to laugh even harder than before.

"They actually had someone _kidnap_ you to ask you those few questions?" Quinn asked. He could hear the cheeky grin in her voice. Oh, how he loved the fact that he could make her smile so easily now.

"Not someone. _Two_ someones, in fact," he corrected her. "Ooh, when I find out who they are, I'll-"

She interrupted him. "Now, now," she scolded in a motherly tone. "I'm sure they didn't know what was going on in that common room; Wes must've bribed them with _something_ to get them to bag you like a rag doll." She snorted in laughter again.

"Come _on_," Jeff groaned into the phone. "Are you really going to tease me about this every single time? And those two cronies must be from Wes' football team or something; they're bloody strong!"

"Football as in the American sport, or the British one?"

"The British one, love. Soccer, then."

"Were you surprised when they started asking you questions?" She led him back to the topic at hand.

"Yeah, I was pretty much in shock when they actually interrogated me. Professor Fletcher was furious with me afterwards, for skipping his class for no valid reason," Jeff chuckled as he remembered how purple Fletcher's face got when he burst into class in the middle of a lecture. A beep sounded by his ear, and he saw the red light on his phone charger blinking, signalling another caller on the line. "Hold on, I have a call on the other line."

"Hurry up, or I'll miss you!" Quinn giggled.

He smiled to himself, and pressed the button on his phone to answer the awaiting caller. "Go for Sterling," he greeted the caller.

"Jeff, it's Nick."

He glanced at the digital clock on his bedside table. It read 22:56. His best friend hardly ever called past ten, having preferred to text, even if it was important. He usually fitted his emergency into a lengthy text. "Nick, it's late. What's up?" Jeff sat up straighter on his bed with a frown. Concern marred his features. "Did something happen to you? You're not in trouble again, are you?"

Nick huffed into the phone. "I'm your best friend, Jeff. You're not telling me things," his best friend said. His voice was sad, almost hurt. Upset, even.

"I thought I told you everything during French today. From the alleged kidnapping, the interrogation-"

"Yeah, but you never said anything about the ring on her finger last night!" Nick protested.

Jeff heaved a sigh. "Quinn and I were just messing about last night, Nick. It was an honest prank, totally spontaneous. The ring was Sam's promise ring to her last year."

"You let her wear her ex boyfriend's promise ring?"

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**Reviews are always welcome.**


	12. Chapter 12

**Disclaimer: I do not own Glee or any of its characters.**

* * *

So what if I let her wear Sam's promise ring? I had to admit, grudgingly, that Trouty Mouth has taste -and good taste, too- in jewellery, and Quinn deserves to wear it; the ring does look nice on her hand, anyway. And I was pretty sure the ring didn't come cheap either, so I didn't make such a fuss about the ring the first time.

Nick had said, with a small sigh, that I was the biggest softie he has ever met and gotten the misfortune of being best friends with. "I think it's the British air you have been breathing prior to transferring here, buddy. You're too soft for your own good; no wonder you're so easy to push around," he had said during our much needed one-and-a-half phone call last night. "And your accent's hard to understand, _mate_," he mocked.

"Oh, you're just hilarious, you know that, Nicky?" I sneered into the phone. After I found out it was Nick on the other line while I was talking to Quinn, I quickly informed her that Nick was feeling pretty upset at me, and she allowed me to talk to him. Bless her soul; she's just so perfect and understanding.

"I know. Maybe that's why I can manipulate you into doing things against your will."

"Oh, like what?" I knew what. I just wanted him to say it. After all, it was he who had planted the idea in my head in the first place.

"Hacking into the school's system and changing our grades," he deadpanned, as if it wasn't obvious enough. I could hear the laugh in Nick's voice just as we were about to hang up. My best friend, ladies and gents.

. . . . .

Jeff woke up to a wracking cough and a sharp pain on the side of his neck. His throat was raspy and dry; it felt like his throat was lined with sandpaper. The clock informed him that it was just past 4 in the morning. He walked over to his bathroom, glass poised under the tap, waiting for the glass to fill. He coughed harder and managed gather enough spit to force out the phlegm. Only it wasn't phlegm.

It was blood.

Bright red droplets contrasted against the ivory white of the porcelain sink, made even brighter in the bathroom lights. It looked menacing, threatening.

He quickly gulped down some water from the tap, not caring if it was filtered or not. His throat felt like he had swallowed a spoonful of sand when he was six, all itchy and uncomfortable. His mum and doctor were both worried and angry at the same time, even though he didn't have to go through gastrointestinal surgery. Only it felt much, much worse than swallowing a spoonful; it felt like someone had dumped a whole beach down his throat.

At least the water helped, even if it was just a little bit even though he did gulp down two glasses.

. . . . .

Jeff was coughing again when he arrived at the Academy. Spots of blood dotted his palm when he coughed into it. He washed his hand in the boy's bathroom and studied his reflection in the mirror.

His eyes were bloodshot and there were bags under them. His already pale complexion looked paler than usual, if that was possible, and his face was almost skeletal. His lips were white and cracked. Beads of sweat lined his upper lip and hairline. I look like hell, he thought.

He splashed some water on his face, slapping his cheeks to put some colour into them. He coughed violently again, hands clutching the porcelain of the sink, body wracking in violent coughs. It felt as if he had coughed up a lung because his chest hurt like hell. More spots of blood in the sink.

"Sterling?"

Jeff looked up weakly with half-lidded eyes. He hadn't realized a professor had walked into the bathroom: his Biology teacher, Professor Francis. Known for his killer assignments, low tolerance of switching lab partners, and students staring out of the large windows in his laboratory. According to graduated seniors, he liked to sharpen _all_ the scalpels in the lab by himself with only a single light overhead.

"Bloody hell, are you alright?" The professor rushed over to Jeff's side and put a hand on Jeff's shoulder. "You're warm." Professor Francis pressed the back of his hand to Jeff's forehead. "Yup, fever. Christ, _is that blood_?" he asked upon noticing the droplets in the sink.

Before Jeff could open his mouth to protest, his body finally caved in. The blonde slumped down to the marble tiles of the bathroom, book bag sliding away. Man, the floor is so cool; I just want to lie here forev-

"Jesus _fucking_ Christ, Sterling!" the man cried when Jeff fell. Francis was also known for his colourful language. Buffed leather shoes interrupted Jeff's blurred line of vision. "Sterling, Sterling!" cried the professor. His head threatened to fall off his neck because Professor Francis was shaking him so hard. "C'mon, boy, I'm taking you to the damn nurse," he growled.

Propped against his professor with an arm thrown over the man's shoulders, Jeff meekly and weakly walked the length of the main building to the nurse's office. The walk there felt more like a hike than a mere block away though.

Upon entering the spacious bright office, the petite nurse took one look at Jeff's pale form and rushed him to the back room. "Profe- Oh, my God!" she exclaimed when she saw Jeff. The professor told the nurse how he had found Jeff in the bathroom and that the boy had a fever.

"Oh, gosh, dear, you're burning up like the sun!" she said worriedly as she gingerly pressed the palm of a hand to his forehead. "Strip," she then commanded, taking charge. "Ice bath in three minutes, no excuses," the nurse said in a breath. "Bring him back here, professor."

Jeff felt himself being dragged to an adjacent room and propped on a puffy armchair. His vision was still blurry and he swore there was two of Professor Francis hovering over him. She filled an aluminium tub with frigid cold water from the faucet, and promptly left the room for some ice. "Three minutes."

Shivering despite his body temperature, Jeff slowly peeled off the layers of his Dalton Academy uniform with what's left of his remaining strength. He heard someone clear his throat, and Jeff soon found himself alone in the room. At least he still had some wits about him to leave his boxers on; his gym locker would have an extra set or two of underwear in case of emergencies. Gripping the edges of the tub, he lowered his lower body in the frigid water, shivering as he dipped his body lower.

"Ice," the nurse announced, walking in with two large buckets of ice. This is going to be hell, Jeff groaned inwardly.

The kindly nurse dumped in the buckets of ice simultaneously with an unknown strength, surprising the blonde in the tub. His teeth chattered against each other as the rapid drop of temperature, but he stood his ground, shivering as chunks of ice kept on raining down on him.

Just how large are these buckets? It seemed endless.

After emptying both buckets, the nurse then checked Jeff's temperature again with a thermometer in the mouth. She tsked when she read what the little device told her. "You're in no condition to be in school, dear," she said, shaking her head with a frown.

A sigh escaped Professor Francis nearby. "I'll inform his other professors, then I'll get the Dean to call his mother," he said to no one.

"You do that, Professor. I'll see to it that he cools down by the time his mother arrives to pick him up."

With that, the curtained partition swished around him, and Jeff was left alone in the frigid tub from Antartica.

. . . . .

_Jeff, honey, are you alright? I heard from Kurt that you're horribly sick. Going over to your place with Kurt and Blaine in an hour after class ends. xx Q_ - sent 12:56

_I'm going over to your place with homework and soup my mum made._ - _Nick_ - sent 13:01

_Going over to your house w/ Quinn in 30 mins. K_ - sent 14:30

The blonde Warbler read the texts with great difficulty, squinting at the bright light since his eyes were bloodshot and watering up as soon as he could wipe them away. He laid sprawled on his bed, covers up to his chin. Another three minutes before Quinn, Kurt and Blaine arrived, he estimated with great difficulty since his brain hurt too much to even think. God, he honestly didn't want Quinn to see him at his worst, but she was insistent on going over.

Jeff heaved a sigh and closed his eyes with every intention to collect his thoughts and to internally assess his situation.

All too soon, he woke up to a pounding head and an even louder pounding on his door.

"Jeff?" called his Mum. "Nick, for God's sakes, stop pounding on the door!" came the followed hiss. "Jeff, sweetheart," he heard his Mum's muffled voice call from the other side again. "I think he's fallen asleep, dear."

"It's alright then, Mrs Sterling. I'll just leave these here for Jeff," he heard another muffled voice beyond his door, only to identify it to be Quinn's a few seconds later. How he could so easily put a name to that sweet and lovely and soft voice anywhere, partially conscious or not. The voice of the angels.

It only took him a mere second to fly to the door and yank it open to greet his beautiful Quinn.

"Oh, Jeff, hi," he heard Quinn breathe out, startled, almost wordlessly before he enveloped her in the tightest hug his body oculd allow without feeling drained of all energy. He felt her arms wind their way behind his bare back and squeeze. It felt cool to the touch, and he relished in it. "How are you?" she murmured into his neck.

"Quinn, dear, you'll catch whatever he's having," warned Mrs Sterling though there was a hint of smile in her voice.

However, Mrs Sterling's comment went unnoticed. Jeff drew in a breath, breathing in the scent of her watermelon-scented hair. "Better, now that you're here," he mumbled, ignoring his mother.

She let out a melodious tinkle of laughter he'd missed so much when he had been bedridden for almost two days. "Your temperature feels normal. Are _you_ feeling normal, though?" she asked him, holding him at an arm's length. "Kurt, Blaine and Nick are all downstairs with your mum."

He hadn't noticed his mum had left the two of them alone a mere few minutes ago. For that, he was grateful to the woman. She really was an understanding person, sharing a close-knit relationship with her eldest son. Mrs Sterling was both a friend and a mother to Jeff whenever the time required her to be either one. The best mother Jeff Sterling could ever ask for; strong, determined, persevering, loving, caring, and headstrong despite the messy divorce and the prospect of raising a teenager by herself away from her homeland.

Quinn ran a hand through his uncombed hair, snapping Jeff back from his reverie. "Are you sure you're okay?" she queried when his train of thought had strayed to his mum.

He shook his head to recollect his thoughts. "Yeah," he grinned. "I'm just really glad to see you after so much time apart, you know?"

"That's just about the corniest thing you've ever said." She hugged him again. When she pulled back, she was smiling serenely at him. "Go wash up. I'll see you downstairs."

"Promise you'll still be there?" He frowned internally; that was incredibly paranoid and insecure of me, he thought. "You won't run away or-" Stop your babbling mouth! he scolded himself.

She laughed lightly again. "No, I won't-" His frown deepened. "I mean, I won't run away; don't be silly. I'll be downstairs, Jeff," she reassured him firmly before gently pushing him back through the door to his bedroom. "Now, go have a long _cold_ shower."

. . . . .

* * *

**Reviews are always welcome.**


	13. Chapter 13

**Disclaimer: I do not own Glee or any of its characters.**

* * *

Time seemed to pass faster every time Jeff thought about it. It had only been a mere year since he migrated from the UK, and it was already fast approaching summer in the States in two weeks, actually. Where had the time gone? The more he thought about it, the faster time flew by. It had to be something good, right? Because the way he saw it, time only seemed to whiz by if one is having fun to notice.

Final exams were around the corner, and Jeff had to make up for lost classes since having taken ill a few weeks ago. Cheating and changing his grades by hacking into the school system certainly won't help, not again; he knew he had to put in his own efforts if he wanted to stay with The Warblers or risk being held back a year. And, his mum's company wouldn't be pleased if they heard Jeff had changed his grades again. They had already threatened to withdraw their sponsor of his education, but since his mum was such a valued employee, they had decided to give him another chance, on condition that he maintain his grades with his _own_ efforts.

Mr Reginald Howard of Howard, Threshard, and Partners PR Company where his mother worked at had "popped in" to the Sterling residence once he got wind of Jeff's suspension following his hacking into the school system. Mr Howard was the one who had financed the house the Sterlings were currently living in, besides the one who put in the word to the company to sponsor Jeff's education at Dalton Academy. Mr Howard really was fond of Kelly-Ann Sterling, seeing as she was their star employee in booking clients from all over the world.

"Now, Jeffery," the stick-thin balding man had began. His black rosewood walking stick was propped by the couch by his right leg. "I heard about your little . . . rule breaking stint in school." If Jeff's vision didn't betray him, he could've sworn that the man's salt-and-pepper moustache was quirked up at the corners, forming a small smirk.

Jeff wasn't that very afraid nor intimidated by the kindly man. He simply offered a small smile at the man and said, "Yes, sir."

"I've persuaded the board of directors not to withdraw your sponsorship-"

"Thank you, sir!"

The man held up a hand to stop Jeff. "Of course, your mother doesn't need to know that I had jeopardised her position in the firm in doing so," he added with a knowing wink.

"Sir?" Jeff didn't understand. Did that mean in order for him to be in favour of his mother's company meant that her job would be on the rocks?

Mr Howard had then smiled broadly, revealing the top row of his teeth. "I told them that I would send Kelly-Ann to our rival firms if they do decide to revoke your education sponsorship," he simply said with a casual shrug and a wink to Jeff.

Quinn understood when he told her that he had to buck up in his studies. Moreover, the curricular at Dalton was on a whole different level when compared to public schools. She kept insisting that it was she that was the cause of his slacking, and after much persuasion from his part, they came to a mutual agreement that _he_ chose to slack, and that it wasn't her fault. He had added with a cheeky smile that she _might've_ played a partial role in his slacking, which earned him a playful slap on the shoulder.

Of course, he had burned the midnight oil the moment exams were around the corner. And with much needed help from David and Blaine, the blonde managed to follow up on his notes and assignments on his subjects (Nick was pretty much useless in the note-taking department, so he wasn't even an option). With the exception of English, Jeff was pretty much catching up with his studies in time for the final exams.

Ancient Roman History was a cinch, with the exception of a couple of miss and hits in the multiple choice questions section, but he otherwise nailed the essays. French was horrid, even though Great Britain was practically neighbours with France. What a misconception, Jeff had groaned to himself when he briefly sifted through the exam sheet in the exam hall. Algebra and Calculus were manageable; Biology, Chemistry, and Physics were nothing compared to the curricular back in the UK. Overall, Jeff was confident with his academic performance for the term.

After school had let out for the summer (finally!), Jeff immediately borrowed a reluctant Nick's SUV and drove down to Lima, eager to meet Quinn, eager for them both to begin the best summer of their lives together. Of course, their epic summer together was short-lived, because Jeff's mum wanted him to "spend some time with his father so that they wouldn't be estranged for the rest of your lives." If Jeff had known any better, that was a subtle hint to him to check up on his twin brothers who were under the care of their father and his secretary mistress who had moved into their London house.

The two blondes had spent the one month of the summer holidays together before he had to leave, much to Jeff's reluctance to let her go.

. . . . .

Jeff flew back to the UK to spend two of the three-month summer holidays with his brothers and Dad. The wanker had taken up to moving in the woman he was cheating on his Mum with into their house. Turns out, the slag was already three months pregnant with his father's child when his Mum found the both of them snogging in the kitchen. At least his father had the smarts to push off marrying her, since finance was a bit of a squeeze at the moment, what with the ongoing divorce and the segregation of property.

He didn't like the idea of spending two months in the same house as them. Jeff disliked (though he rather preferred the word 'hate') his father for what he had done to his mother, who had practically supported the family with her salary while his father was working with a meagre salary at an accounting firm. The arrangement had led to a row with his Mum before he left Westerville.

"But, Mum, I don't see why _I_ have to stay in the same house with that slag!" Jeff had protested, yelling out his disagreement as he clambered up the sturdy wooden railing to make himself comfortable.

His Mum was hanging up the laundry in the backyard when Jeff had yelled from the back porch. "Don't use such language, Jeff," she coolly said, throwing his dark blue bed sheet over the line to hang. "And you have no other means of boarding when you're back there, have you?" she countered.

Jeff sat on the wooden railing, swinging his legs. "They snog all the time, and her cat smells like rotten Sunday brunch," he grimaced at the memory. With a firm nod, he concluded, "I don't like a cat." He crossed his arms.

"You're being such a fourteen-year old. Suck it up, buddy," she chided with a smirk. "It's only for two months, and since you're already seventeen, go bunk with your friends if you don't like that sla- woman," she said, attempting to hide a smile while hanging up another sheet.

Jeff hopped off his perch on the railing. "You were about to say 'slag', weren't you?" he yelled in triumph. "Hah!" he whooped with a fist in the air. "Now I know where I got my foul mouth from, eh?" A pair of his damp boxers met his face. "Mother!" he whined.

He landed at the airport in the early morning, his body fighting the jet lag with the sudden time zone change. His flight was an hour and a half early, so he made his way to the nearest Starbucks for a proper internet connection while waiting for his mates who had insisted they should pick him up as soon as he arrived. He might as well do something mildly productive while waiting, or he might just fall asleep on those hard plastic airport chairs and his friends might have trouble finding him.

Jeff booted up his laptop and secured a connection. He wrote a lengthy email to Quinn, saying that he didn't want to leave her in Lima and that he already missed her soft kisses. He added that he would Skype her as often as possible, whenever the time zone permits them to be both awake at the same time. And it was summer, after all. The two of them would have ample time to catch up with each other's lives and still maintain their social lives. He ended the email with a verse of a song he was currently composing for her.

Right after the email had been sent, he received a request on Skype for a video call from Quinn. Elated, he quickly accepted the call and was greeted by a whole new image of Quinn.

"Your hair," he gaped openly. His mouth was hanging open in a wide 'O'.

Quinn laughed her melodious laugh. "You like?" she asked, tousling it a bit. "Spur of the moment" was her simple explanation.

"I want to touch it," Jeff said. His brain didn't allow for much words at the sudden change of appearance from his girlfriend.

"Oh, honey," Quinn laughed as if he was being silly.

Jeff feigned innocence. "What? It's bright pink! I want to touch it!" He made a move to touch his webcam with a finger, blacking out his screen for a second or two. "Why pink anyway?" he asked as he removed his finger. A glint from her section of the screen caught his attention. He squinted. "Is that- Is that a _nose ring_?"

There was a glint of mischief in her eyes before she answered. "I like pink. Don't you think it suits me?" she winked at him, fluffing her pink hair again. "The guy from the shop said it'll hurt for a few more days." She gingerly touched the ring on her left nostril. "It's all good."

"Of course I like it. Like you said, it suits you perfectly. I wished I wasn't so far away from you now; I really want to touch it. Not a big fan of the nose ring, though."

"It's just hair, honey," she smiled. "I miss you, Jeff," she then added softly, her eyes moist. He hadn't noticed that she didn't try to persuade him to get used to the nose ring at all.

"And I you, love. And I you."

His phone buzzed beside his laptop (he had kept his old number prior migrating to the States), signalling a text messages. He read the message.

_We're here, you Yank. Where the hell are you? - Leon_ - sent 06:42

Jeff grinned and displayed the text to Quinn, who laughed upon reading it. "This is who I have for friends: rude and insulting," he said, rolling his eyes playfully.

"You should meet up with them, then," she laughed lightly. "I'll talk to you soon?"

He nodded animatedly. "Of course you will!" After exchanging goodbyes, Jeff shut off his laptop, sent a reply to his friend Leon, and waited for the lot of them to come pick him up.

. . . . .

One and a half months passed by in a blur. Skype calls to Quinn had decreased drastically, though as frequent as twice a day. Overall, they had Skype-called a total of 52 times since his stay in the UK, which wasn't as much as Jeff had liked. Quinn had written him numerous emails apologising for missing their sessions because she was either out shopping with Mercedes, gossiping and insulting Rachel with Santana and Brittany, or having facials with Kurt.

The duration of his stay had Jeff so caught up with going to the meagre pubs with his group of rowdy friends, a weak attempt of bonding and shopping with the woman that had moved into their house at Oxford Street, and catching up with his brothers who are currently dating twin sisters. Parties were held in his honour, because according to most of his friends, "going to the States and survived to tell the tale" was a huge accomplishment. It was then that Jeff had realised how much his friends exaggerated his move to other people, though he was glad to return to his homeland.

The last parts of his holidays were spent doing proper shopping, buying gifts and souvenirs for everyone back home at Ohio.

Wait, when did I start calling Ohio _home_? Jeff thought suddenly, stopping in his tracks. Glares were thrown his way as people manoeuvred around him, annoyed at his sudden action. Maybe my friends are right; I have turned into a Yank! he thought in exasperated dismay.

On his last night in London, Jeff received a Skype call from Quinn. Excited, he accepted the call with a quick click of his mouse, expecting a video call.

"Isn't your webcam working, love?" Jeff asked with a frown. The last time they had a video call was a mere two days ago. Glancing at the clock on the bottom right of the screen and doing the right calculation of time zone differences, he found her to be awake at 4 in the morning. "Are you okay?"

"Sorry, Jeff, I dropped my laptop down the stairs yesterday and the webcam's bust since," she apologised. Jeff noted that her voice didn't sound all too sincere, but he brushed it aside, assuming that she had much more other important things in her mind to focus too much on her ongoing conversation with him. Maybe she was distracted, seeing as she was still up at 4AM.

"Oh, it's alright. I love listening to your voice anyway," Jeff said, smiling. He hoped she could hear the smile and sincerity in his voice. "Puts me off to sleep right away," he grinned. Then he quickly backtracked: "Not that your voice is boring enough to put me to sleep, no."

Quinn heaved a sigh. He frowned again. This was her cue to laugh; she always laughed at his absentmindedness, his antics. Had she been laughing at me just to be polite all these while? Jeff thought, panicking. It isn't my fault that there was no filter between his brain and his mouth.

"Jeff, I want to break up."

. . . . .

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**Reviews are always welcome. **


	14. Chapter 14

**Disclaimer: I do not own Glee or any of its characters.**

* * *

He almost dropped the Rubik's cube was fiddling with. Did I hear that right? Quinn wanted to _break up_ with me? Jeff's thoughts screamed and raged in his head. His head swam. What did I do? Was it something I said before? Was she only putting up with me for her own benefit? Had nothing that happened between us been real?

"I- I- What brought this on?" Jeff managed to stutter. He hoped he didn't sound to crestfallen and upset; he wanted to take this as maturely as he could.

Quinn sighed again. "I need a new start, Jeff. I've missed you so much over the summer, believe me," she simply said. "But I need a new start," she repeated again.

"If that's what you want, love," Jeff said after a long pause. He fingered the velvet box that held his gift for Quinn: a sterling silver bracelet chain adorned with custom made charms. One charm was a red and white 'ND', another a diamond-encrusted letter 'Q', a ballet slipper that represented her ballet days, a navy-and-red-striped necktie to symbolise his uniform, and a simple 3D heart. "If that's what you want," he repeated. He tossed the velvet box into his desk drawer and slammed it shut.

"Don't call me that. Don't make me regret my actions later on, Jeff. I still have feelings for you, but I need a clean break right now. You've treated me nothing but right; you're the sweetest boyfriend ever. You buy me flowers, you surprise me a lot, you can read my mind without me having to speak out. You understand me, for the most part. And not many can make me laugh like you can, you know."

"So it's the whole "it's not you, it's me" sort of situation, is it?" he demanded. "We both know that if one of us play that card, it's surely the other's fault."

"No, it's not that; it really is me."

"Is it now?" he deadpanned.

"Yes, it-"

Jeff stared at the black space that where Quinn's face would be if her webcam was working. He nodded mutely, and realised she couldn't see him. He swallowed thickly and said, dejectedly, "Alright, Quinnie," cutting her off. He poised a hand over the lid of his laptop, ready to snap it shut without saying goodbye, when a whispered sentence stopped him.

"I don't regret you for a second."

He closed the lid, squeezing his eyes tightly with a sigh.

. . . . .

Jeff flew back to Westerville the next morning, scheduled to arrive back in the States the previous night, a night he wished he were travelling back in time to, so that the whole break up fiasco with Quinn could be avoided after all. What little sleep he managed to get after their Skype call wasn't enough, and even during the flight, Jeff was able to doze of for more than two hours at the most.

His mum picked him up from the airport in the wee hours of the morning, just before dawn. She had commented on his pale features and bags under his eyes.

"I think the next time you go back there will be for Christmas; your skin is as pale as Kurt's!" she told him. "I hadn't realised the weather in London was so horrible until we moved here." She then grabbed her son's face in a hand, squishing his cheeks. "My God," she tutted as she turned his head from side to side in assessment. "Hasn't the woman been feeding you there? And those bags under your eyes!"

Jeff brushed his mum's hand away, and rubbed his eyes warily. "I haven't a wink of sleep since last night, Mum," he explained. His eyelids were drooping shut, body swaying on his feet as he struggled to stay awake. "Let's go home," he mumbled. He shouldered his carryon bag higher, and made beeline to where the parking lot was located, leaving his mother to follow him although she knew he had no clue where he car was parked.

The house he had lived in for almost a year -and had recently called a _home-_ seemed even more welcoming than the townhouse where he had spent the last two months of his holidays in. Okay, maybe half that time he was spending nights at his friends' houses, trying to avoid _that_ woman at all costs. Even his brothers had taken to spending their nights at their mates' places.

He trudged up the stairs with heavy steps, fatigue eating at him with each step he took upwards, begging to rest and recuperate. His bed was such a welcomed sight that he instantly fell into it, fully clothed, after making the long hike up the stairs. He left his luggage bags in the hallway, intending to attend to it as soon as he took that much-needed sleep.

Only a week left until summer ends, and he would start the new school term as a senior.

. . . . .

He spent the last week of summer with The Warblers, warming up his vocal chords and dance moves after neglecting it during the summer whilst he was away. For the most part, his teammates had also neglected their voices as well, having spent their summer in the Hamptons or New York City. Quinn was far from his mind as he belted out notes and broke out into choreography. No one knew why the quiet British lad was working twice as hard since his return, though none questioned him about it either. Even Nick had taken to shrugging when the others turned to him when Jeff didn't provided a satisfactory reply.

"We have Sectionals this year" was all the blonde dancer said when the others questioned him. "We have to beat New Directions this year, and with Wes gone, we have to work twice as hard." He had walked away on them that day with music sheets in hand.

No arguments from anyone there. Everyone knew that they couldn't afford to have another tie-in with any other show choir team like last year's Sectionals, particularly the New Directions, now that Kurt was back in their midst. The Warblers had arguably lost their countertenor following the suspension of the bully who was terrorising him back at McKinley, but it was, after all, Kurt's decision to rejoin his friends even though it meant contending with his boyfriend's show choir team.

But that was besides the point. Jeff also knew that his teammates had been talking behind his back; the room always fell into a quiet hush whenever he walked in on them. How obvious could they get? Well, as long as they have a don't ask, don't tell policy, I'm cool with it, Jeff thought meekly to himself one day I don't even want to know what they're talking about anyway, he managed to reassure himself. That was when he started distancing himself from them to wallow in his own feelings.

The week passed by in a blur, spent with rehearsals at the Academy. He didn't even bother making time to drive down to Lima to see Quinn anymore; the thought just hadn't occurred to him. In two days, summer would be officially over, and the next school session would follow. New schedules, new curricular subjects, added Warbler practices-

"Hey, Jeff, buddy, are you alright?" someone asked. Jeff didn't bother identifying who the voice belonged to, simply because he could recognise the speaker anywhere.

The blonde looked up from his seat at the wooden picnic table situated beneath a shady oak tree, a smile plastered to his face. "Sure, why wouldn't I be, Blaine?" He really hoped that his smile was convincing enough for their lead singer to buy; he just didn't feel like socialising much anymore lately. Not even for the weekly movie nights in Nick's dorm room when The Warblers would gather in the brunette's room to watch power-packed blockbuster films and play video games all night long.

Right now, Blaine had a look on his face that Jeff could only identify as worry, and a bit of pity. Jeff didn't like to be pitied by anyone, especially since Kurt would tell Blaine everything, which meant Kurt had probably told his boyfriend about Jeff and Quinn's break up, no doubt about that. Which meant that a total of three people knew of the break up: Nick, Kurt, and Blaine.

"Nothing," Blaine said, a bit taken aback. "I, uh, wanted to talk to you." The shorter Warbler gestured toward the gardens.

Jeff nodded. "Sure." He got up from the bench. "Why can't we talk here, though? The grounds are empty. . ."

The soloist shrugged, not meeting Jeff's eyes.

Sighing, Jeff simply nodded again and fell into step with Blaine, who was already walking towards the gardens. Patience, Sterling. Patience, he thought to himself. Kurt must've made Blaine give a talk to the wallowing Jeff so that he'd snap out of his depression. Why else would Blaine suddenly want to 'talk' to him then?

. . . . .

They sat on a stone bench in the courtyard situated in front of an exquisite marble fountain whose trickling water made a serene and peaceful sound. A sound so serene that Jeff had to close his eyes to take in the melody. Birds were twitting, and there was a gentle breeze: it was a perfect day. Very much unlike the day Quinn had decided to end things with me, he grimaced with a frown.

"So," Blaine started, cutting the silence between the two of them.

Jeff opened his eyes. "Oh, yeah," he said, hoping to sound casual. "You wanted to talk to me?"

The brunette nodded. "You're, uh, the first to know. I want you to be the one to break the news to them, when I'm not around."

_What_ is he talking about? What news? What did he mean by "not around"? The blonde peered at Blaine from his periphery. "What's going on, Blaine?" Jeff frowned. "Are you in any sort of trouble?"

"No, no, no! None of that; I'm not in any trouble!" Blaine backtracked as held up his hands as if in surrender. "It's just that-" he sighed. "I miss Kurt everyday since he's moved back to McKinley. And summer flew by just like that-" He snapped his fingers to emphasise his point. "And I barely got to spend time with him."

_Why_ is he telling me this? Jeff thought, but nodding mutely at Blaine in understanding.

"I've decided to transfer to McKinley."

Jeff suddenly blurted out, "What the hell?" He ran a hand over his face. "Sorry, I didn't mean to say that. Allow me to rephrase: What the _hell_?" He emphasised on the last word, studying Blaine's face. "You're serious about this, mate?"

Blaine Anderson nodded, eyes sincere and pleading. "Yes, Jeff. My mind's just about made up. I've been thinking about it all summer; during Warbler practices, and even in the shower. I'm transferring to McKinley," he said firmly this time.

"What about your credits? I mean, you've worked so hard-"

"My credits don't matter, Jeff."

"And your position in the fencing team? You're going to give that up?"

Blaine nodded.

"You'll lose your lead within The Warblers."

"I know," he admitted. His puppy dog eyes were sad and moist. "Stop it, Jeff."

So Blaine knew. He knew that Jeff was trying to convince him to stay at Dalton with his promising grades and position within the fencing team. His last resort and plea was Blaine's lead with The Warblers.

This is _not_ happening. Not when The Warblers are at their prime with Blaine being the best soloist, bringing them from Sectionals to Nationals two years ago (even though Jeff hadn't been part of the school then). For God's sakes, they were getting better if the New Directions hadn't sprung up from nowhere last year and tied with them at Sectionals. They practically _delivered_ Kurt to their lavish school's doorstep before that, too!

"Stop what, Blaine?" Jeff asked, blinking innocently.

Blaine's eyes pleaded with Jeff. "C'mon, man." Hell, even his voice was begging almost. "I know what you're trying to do."

"Do what?" Jeff had to try again. For his fellow Warblers' sakes. For their sakes, he had to at least _try_ to convince Blaine not to abandon them. They would be as vulnerable as sitting ducks without him!

"Jeff."

The blonde heaved a sigh. "Fine, sorry." His eyes met Blaine's. "When?" he asked.

"My credit transfer is pending; I have already talked to Figgins at McKinley last week, so I can start there on the second day of school."

Blaine is transferring to McKinley High. Alright, that was perfectly acceptable. But that also meant that he would be part of the New Directions, indefinitely. The McKinley glee club would be fools not to accept Blaine amongst their ranks, that was for sure. He knew that, which also mean that The Warblers would also understand that without having Jeff tell them. This would then give the New Directions the advantage, for sure.

And that also meant The Warblers would be competing _Blaine_ at Sectionals this year.

* * *

**Reviews are always welcome.**


	15. Chapter 15

**Disclaimer: I do not own Glee or any of its characters.**

Sebastian Smythe is his name. He is pretty tall and lanky with broad shoulders, well-chiselled face with a condescending smirk that mar his features every time someone spoke to him, and not to mention that sarcastic tone every single time he spoke. The kid also seemed quite reserved, always going about with hands in his pockets as if he had something to hide. Had to admit though, he did pretty good during his audition with his own rendition of McFly's _Falling in Love_.

"I think he's gay," whispered Nick from Jeff's left.

"Totally, man. Body language says it all," David whispered from Jeff's right.

"How can you tell though?" asked Jeff as he eyed Sebastian.

The three were seated on the leather couch facing the great fireplace that was never used, ever. Jeff watched the new sophomore addition with casual eyes, trying to be inconspicuous. Sebastian was currently leaning against the mahogany desk that served as the counsel's while talking to Thad who was perched on the table.

David elbowed Jeff's ribs. "Look, dude!"

"What am I supposed to look at?" Jeff whispered back. He really was curious, because unlike his friends, he couldn't understand nor read sexual orientation just by watching someone. Maybe if the person of interest had spoken to him directly, like Kurt. . .

"He has his hand placed too near Thad's thigh," Nick pointed out, casually flipping a page from the magazine he was holding as a prop. The magazine was upside down, anyway. "You keep your body parts to yourself when you're talking to someone of the same sex, unless you're being suggestive."

David nodded and added, "See the way he's gesturing, always brushing Thad's shoulder?"

"Gay," whispered Nick.

"Gay."

. . . . .

The summer had passed with no significant events besides Jeff breaking the news to The Warblers about Blaine's transfer to William McKinley High School. They took it quite hard, being two Warblers down since Wes had already graduated (David had _cried_ for days, though he wouldn't admit to it). Everyone had thought that the new school year would be as normal as it always had been on the very first day, since Blaine had casually walked the Dalton hallways in their school blazer, even flashing his Warbler pin proudly on the lapel of his blazer.

No one suspected anything until the Warblers' meet after school that day. That was when Jeff dropped the bomb on them. It was worsened when Blaine had walked in on them halfway through the meet. Poor Blaine had been smothered and bombarded with demanding questions that he couldn't answer and Jeff had to pull him out from it. The questions then turned to ten Warblers trying to convince the boy to stay with them. It was, of course, futile, because Blaine had made up his mind, and his documents are to be finalised that very day.

The team and Blaine eventually came to a mutual agreement that they needed a new soloist and a new member or two after a good one-and-a-half hours of debating with a firm-standing Blaine.

The counsel, along with the votes of the other team members, elected Nick Duval to be their new solo singer for the Warblers.

Jeff had passed his final exams with flying colours, much to his own surprise (he thought he hadn't studied hard enough, maybe that was why he thought French and Algebra were positively murderous). He and Nick had burned the midnight oil together cramming for every subject they took; hacking into the school system to change their grades _again _were far from their minds. They couldn't afford to be suspended from Warbler practices anymore.

Quinn never once called Jeff, nor did he. He did, however, send her a lengthy text message explaining that he _will_ try his best to fight for her again, and to keep his promise of keeping her happy even if it meant seeing her with another guy. Sure, it'll break his heart, but all was fair in love and war, right? But this was definitely no war; it was only Quinn's affections he had to fight for.

_Thank you, Jeff, but I have to do this for myself, and what is good for my future. Your last sentence was cheesy, though; you'll only get hurt if you see me with someone else. xx Q_ - sent 22:48

Jeff didn't reply after receiving that last text from her.

. . . . .

David and Jeff were belting out the backup vocals for Nick for their Warbler practice as a warm-up exercise. This would also be a performance to showcase the new kid's talent; Thad and David had decided to give a verse to Sebastian to "test how well he can work as a group".

Nick cleared his throat and sang:

"_Uptown girl,__  
__She's been living in her white bread world__.__  
_"_As long as anyone with hot blood can__,__  
__And now she's looking for a downtown man,__  
__That's what I am__._

_And when she knows what__ s__he wants from her time;__  
__And when she wakes up,__ a__nd makes up her mind__._"

Jeff spared a glance at Sebastian who was perched on the armrest of a couch as the sophomore harmonised along with the rest. He noticed that he was walking toward the double doors, but his teammates blocked his view from seeing any further.

"_She'll see I'm not so tough,_

_Just because I'm in love with an uptown girl-_"

A startled expression morphed into a happy one upon seeing Sebastian pull a very proud Blaine into their practice room. The former Warbler joined in the Warblers' little dance without missing a step as if he had been practising with them all these while. Blaine also partook in the spontaneous serenade to the unknown French professor in the hallway before dispersing back into the choir room.

Oh, how I have had missed dancing with the smaller boy! he grinned discreetly to himself as he belted out the last chords after Nick.

"You guys _killed_ it, as always," said Blaine enthusiastically as he hopped off the couch he was perching on to give Nick a hug. The Warblers surrounded them both eagerly.

"We'd sound so much better with you back in the mix," Trent said, which was followed by nods of agreement from the others.

"You should really sing with us again!"

"We've missed you, Blaine."

"We don't sound as good without you now." Many boys seconded this as Blaine chuckled heartily.

"Actually, I'm here to invite you guys to my opening night at McKinley, West Side Story!" Blaine explained his being there. He produced a stack of tickets from his back pocket and fanned them out with nervous hands. "I reserved a whole block of tickets just for the Warblers. It'll mean the world to me if you guys can come." He looked at each Warbler hopefully.

Trent quickly offered his hand out to accept the tickets. "We'll be there," Sebastian quickly said. "Once a Warbler, always a Warbler, right?" he added, shrugging.

. . . . .

"Dude, check out all these chicks here in McKinley!" Thad whispered loudly. Greg and Trent quickly shushed him. Patrick already had a hand over Thad's mouth to stop the smaller boy from saying anymore than he should.

Jeff ignored all of them as he straightened his Academy blazer, shaking hands buttoning, unbuttoning, and buttoning the gold buttons repeatedly. God, why am I so nervous now? he thought grimly. Quinn will just be on stage, singing and dancing like she always have been, looking prettier than ever (he saw the pictures she had posted up on Facebook in the duration of the musical's rehearsals). Grow a pair, Jeff, he scolded himself over and over in his head.

Nick placed a hand on Jeff's shoulder. "Jeff Sterling, will you _please_ relax? You'll shit yourself if she sees how nervous you are right now," he told his best friend with a roll of his eyes. "Which, in my opinion, is quite comical, if you'd ask me-"

"That's the problem, buddy; I didn't ask," Jeff deadpanned, staring straight ahead at the hallway ahead of him.

"If only you could see yourself right now, bro: you look like a total fourteen year old about to go on his first date!" Nick continued, ignoring Jeff's comment. Oddly, that made Jeff feel a bit better, but he wasn't going to let Nick know that.

"Jeff? You look a bit pale; are you alright?" David asked in concern upon seeing Jeff's complexion.

"David Thompson, how dare you! Just because my friend here is British, and the weather there is just absolutely horrible, you mock his features?" Nick gasped dramatically, lightly punching David's shoulder. Jeff couldn't help but chuckle as the boys who overheard Nick's outburst turned and gaped at David, who stood in the hallway in shock.

"Wha- No, I- I- I didn't mean it like that. I'm sorry, Jeff," David began stuttering in apology.

"Just joking, Dave. He's only going to see his Quinnie performing onstage, and the boy's just shitting his pants right now." Nick laughed with a shrug. "No biggie."

The rest of the Warblers guffawed at David's priceless expression, laughter bouncing off the hallways as the group of singers made their way to William McKinley High School's auditorium.

. . . . .

The school's bootleg rendition of West Side Story had the audience on their feet, clapping and cheering wildly as the cast and crew emerged for their curtain calls. Jeff couldn't keep his eyes off of Quinn when she sang and danced onstage, taking his breath away. Nick was so sure Jeff was the one cheering the loudest when Quinn's came out for her curtain call.

Nick, Sebastian, Jeff, and David fought their way into the New Directions' choir room-cum-dressing room after the show had adjourned. Since the rest of the Warblers went ahead to BreadstiX, the four decided to exchange a few words with Blaine before heading to the restaurant themselves. They quickly found Blaine, Kurt, and Quinn sharing a vanity where the three of them were snapping pictures of each other.

"Delete that last picture!" Kurt squealed. "I look like a hooker dressed up as a policeman!" He made a snatch at the digital camera a laughing Quinn was angling away from him. "Quinn!"

"Blaine, my main man!" David called, raising a hand in greeting. The three around the vanity looked up at the greeting, grins on their faces. "You were _amazing_."

Blaine's grin widened as he accepted David's handshake, then proceeded to greet Nick, Jeff and Sebastian. Kurt hugged them all tightly after Blaine had his turn. As Nick, Sebastian and David drifted away with Blaine and Kurt for some catching up, Jeff found himself standing awkwardly behind Quinn, who had been neglected during the introductions. She was pretending to look busy by removing her makeup whilst looking at her reflection in the vanity mirror.

"You were great tonight, Quinn."

Quinn hesitated and slowly met Jeff's eyes through the mirror. He noticed that a small smile had crept onto her lips. "Thank you, Jeff."

"No, you were absolutely fantastic and breathtaking up there," Jeff said, voice nervous as he slid both his hands into his trousers pockets. Be cool, Jeff, he reminded himself.

Quinn hopped off the high chair and turned to face the blonde boy. She closed the distance between them in two steps and placed her hands on his chest, tiptoed and kissed Jeff lightly on the lips. A casual yet innocent gesture; Jeff tried not to think past that. She pulled back slightly, so that they were nose-to-nose.

"Thanks for coming, Jeff. When I saw you in the crowd tonight, I performed only for you; you were the only one I saw," she whispered. Her breath tickled his nose and it smelled like mints.

Adrenaline was pumping through his veins, fuelled by his wild beating heart in his chest. He wound his arms around her, and he kissed her lightly. She didn't resist. This is good, right? Jeff didn't know.

"Come to BreadstiX with us tonight," he invited her in a whisper so soft he was sure he had to repeat himself.

"Since Artie's throwing a celebratory party. . ." she giggled.

. . . . .

Since it was nearing 10PM, BreadstiX was empty of patrons save for the cast and crew of West Side Story, the Warblers who decided to stick around, and the restaurant staff who were happy enough to cater to the latecomers despite their closing time at midnight. Jeff suspected that it was simply because the New Directions frequent the restaurant a lot and had gained the favour of the staff.

The ambience in the restaurant was lively with chatter and laughter; everyone was celebrating the unexpected success of McKinley's first show. Jeff was seated with his fellow Warblers; Quinn by his side, his blazer draped casually across her petite shoulders, Thad was sitting with Brittany who was holding Santana's hand, and David was joking around with Tina and Mike Chang. Mr Schuester was sharing a table with Ms Pillsbury and Coach Beiste. Kurt, Blaine, Finn, and Rachel were nowhere to be seen.

A small tinkle of metal on glass rang throughout the room. A hushed silence followed and all eyes travelled to the small stage in the corner where the Warblers had had performed during Valentine's Day with _Silly Love Songs_. The New Directions' teacher advisor, Mr Schue, had weaved his way on the stage.

"A toast," he said, raising a flute of champagne. "To the great cast of West Side Story; your performance was amazing. To the crew, without you, imaginations cannot be brought to reality. To the director of this amazing production, Artie Abrams, without your undying efforts and hard work, we would have _never_ gotten through without you."

The crowd of people in the restaurant raised their own drinks respectively, a rambunctious cheer filling the atmosphere of the restaurant in agreement to Mr Schuester's speech.

"Hear, hear!"

"To Artie!"

. . . . .

"Allow me to drive you back," said Jeff. He was walking hand-in-hand with Quinn in the BreadstiX's parking lot. "Please." Out of the corner of his eye, he could see her trying to suppress a sigh. His heart fell a bit. "If you want, I mean," he quickly added before she could manage a word in. Maybe he was being too forward right now. After all, it hadn't been long since their break up, and he didn't want to rush things nor pressure her into taking him back.

Quinn stopped them both in their tracks and turned to face him. She looked at him from beneath her eyelashes as she tried to fight the tears that were threatening to spill over from her hazel green eyes.

"Jeff," she started.

He waited for her to continue her sentence, holding in his breath. This is it: she's going to ask me to stay away from her, or she'll get a restraining order against me, he thought. No! Don't think such things, you idiot! She won't do such a thing! his other half countered. Go with the flow, Sterling.

"I can't do this with you; rekindle the relationship we once had. Yes, I still have feelings for you, like I said before, but I have to think what's best for my future. You have been so very good to me when we were together, and I will always, _always_ remember the amazing times we had." She held one of his hands in both of hers. "I love you, Jeff. I really do. But my future depends on me, and I just simply can't bear to put you through it."

"Your future is where I want to be," he mumbled in response. Wait a minute- She keeps going on about her future. _What_ exactly is she rambling on about? "What are you going on about with _your_ future, Quinn?"

"I want Beth back-"

**Song used in this chapter: _Uptown Girl_ cover by The Dalton Academy Warblers.**

**Reviews are always welcome.**


	16. Chapter 16

**Disclaimer: I do not own Glee or any of its characters.**

Thinking back, Jeff's Aunt Rita had mentioned in passing that the two would be together for a long time, and if memory serves him right, Aunt Rita had also said that they _might_ get married someday. He had always thought that Aunt Rita was full of nonsense, since none of her 'predictions' had ever come true before. And then there was that prediction that came to her in a dream that her husband, Jeff's Uncle Lucas, would die of a heart attack five years into their marriage which really did happen. . .

". . . I don't want you to be part of her life when I get her back," Quinn finished.

_What_? Did she really just say that? Jeff knew there was a look of shock and wonder etched on his face, mouth agape, staring into Quinn's eyes. "What do you mean by that?" he demanded after a moment of silence.

"I love you, Jeff. And I can't force the role of being the father on you; you're too good for that."

"That doesn't explain why we're not together still," Jeff mumbled. He knew he was being stubborn, but damn him if he walked off without a fair fight.

"Puck's the real father; I'd rather throw the responsibility on him, seeing as he was the one who knocked me up."

"So you're willing to throw me- _us_- away just so you can get your baby back and make amends with Puckerman? That doesn't make any sense, Quinn."

"Yes- No- I-"

"What, Quinn? Make up your mind," he demanded of her. His patience was wearing thin, but he didn't want to lash out on her while she was like this.

She gave him a tentative shove, and with a determined look on her face, she said, "I want Beth. I'm sorry, Jeff."

With that last sentence said, Jeff watched as Quinn back a few steps away from him, turn her back, and walk across the parking lot with her head hung low, hands clutching elbows. He wasn't sure if she was crying or not, but he certainly felt like it though.

He watch her disappear behind a car. Now completely alone, he kicked the gravel underfoot and let out a frustrated cry, clutching his head. He didn't understand anything at all, not one bit!

. . . . .

Life returned to its mundane and snail-like pace since the celebration at BreadstiX two weeks ago. Soon, the greenery at the Academy were shedding their leaves, bringing out the inner child of most Dalton boys who were seen playing in piles of dried leaves in the various courtyards around campus during common time.

Perhaps it was the change of air and scenery that convinced Jeff to forget anything Quinn related, or the prospect of the nearing show choir competition. They just couldn't afford to lose this year or get a tie-in with any other groups in Westerville, not again. As if that wasn't humiliating enough, they lost their star lead singer to McKinley High, and now The Warblers were almost at a disadvantage.

This meant that Warbler practices had to be doubled up in total since Sectionals were coming up. Jeff found himself exerting all his energy and stamina into coordinating dance moves with David since the two of them were the only proper two dancers left in the team. Throw in simultaneous singing while dancing had him knackered by the time he arrived home every night; Jeff was working his arse off since returning summer break.

The finalised set list were selected by the Warblers themselves, voted based on the majority, and confirmed by the counsel a month before the confirmed date of Sectionals. Since they all had agreed to showcase Nick's amazing voice for solos, the group had chosen Take That's _Back For Good_, their own rendition of Brandy's _Long Distance_ and Cobra Starship's upbeat _Hot Mess_ where David and Jeff would be dancing along to.

Ah, yes. This year's Sectionals will be in the bag, Jeff thought smugly to himself. Too bad we're not going against New Directions this year, though. Maybe during Regionals, he shrugged.

. . . . .

"Hey, Jeff!"

Jeff walked down the length of the hallway with earphones in his ears, murmuring under his breath along to the music blasting on full volume from his iPod. He was on his way to the Warblers' Hall to meet up with Nick, David, and Thad to come up with some notes to harmonise along to for Sectionals. They had to be perfect, after all. The Dalton Academy Warblers weren't deemed their school rockstars for screwing up.

"_Will_ you wait up?" came a yelled groan from behind him. Jeff whirled around in his heels to see Flint racing toward him in top speed, skidding and slipping to a stop in front of Jeff. He was already panting heavily. "I _swear_, you are almost deaf whenever you have your earphones in," he grumbled, gesturing to the device. Jeff popped them out from his ears.

"Sorry, what did you say?" he blinked.

"Never mind," said Flint, waving a dismissive hand.

The blonde raised an eyebrow. "The caked mud on your clothing a new look, Flint?" Jeff chuckled at the dishevelled Flint who was usually so neat and composed. Dried twigs and leaves stuck out from the darker boy's hair, and his red Dalton sweater and slacks were rumpled with blotches of mud here and there; Jeff concluded that he must've been out in the courtyards mucking about in the fallen autumn leaves. "You look like a fright, Flint. What's up?"

"Oh, my God, Flint, you look like your handsome self!" waved a chuckling boy from Jeff's Anatomy class.

Another boy joined in. "Yeah, Flint. Having fun rolling around in the dirt, or did you mistake it for whitening lotion?"

The boy in question swore. "Well, I'm _sorry_ if I take care of my skin, guys! Don't you have somewhere to be?" he demanded, shooting a glare at the two boys still grinning at Flint's unkempt appearance.

"Bugger off, guys," Jeff said to the two. "I'll tell you all about it later, yeah?" he promised.

"As I was saying," Flint continued as he watched the two laughing boys walk down the hallway. He turned to Jeff with eager eyes. "Revenge," he said.

"What?"

"Revenge," Flint repeated, standing a bit taller. "I was on my way to the Art Department when the some of the Warblers _ambushed_ me at the connecting courtyard." He gestured to his hair and clothes. "As you can see, they shoved me into the biggest pile of leaves I've ever seen in my life. My clothes and hair are ruined!" Flint threw his hands up in the air as Jeff roared with laughter. Some leaves were stuck to his black sweater.

Jeff gasped for air as he recomposed himself. "You mean- You mean Benji and the rest are _still_ at it?" He snorted out another laugh as Flint looked at Jeff in bewilderment.

"You _know_?" gasped Flint.

The blonde nodded as he patted Flint's shoulder in pity. "Oh, Wilson, haven't you been paying attention all week?" When he didn't receive any response from the flustered boy standing with his arms crossed in front of him, Jeff continued. "They have been planning attacks all around the school for a week and a half now. They're attacking anyone within range."

The dark haired boy grimaced. "Where was I when they planned it?" he demanded with a throw of his arms in the air.

"Possibly holed up in the art room like you always are."

Flint groaned again. "I really need to start paying more attention to those clowns."

"So how many of them did you see attack you?" Jeff asked curiously. "They did invite me to be a part of it. . ."

"Only four of them were part of the ambush, I suppose. When I extracted myself from the mess, only Greg, Patrick, Matt, and Jon surrounded me and then pelted me with moist mud balls!"

Jeff roared even louder at Flint's last sentence. Oh, he had missed a spectacular show right there; he should've been part of the ambush! He'll have to talk to Matt and Jon about including him next time.

"Why did they even have you targeted in the first place?" Jeff barely managed to ask Flint, still guffawing in laughter. "I'm sure- I'm sure there were many others in the courtyard, right?"

"They said I was a dry stick in the mud; too serious and never having enough fun," Flint grumbled, crossing his arms. "Beats me if there were any others around; they wouldn't save me even if I was drowning in mud."

"Hence, stick in the mud, then, Flint?" The blonde burst out laughing again, wiping exaggerated tears from the corners of his eyes. Revenge sounded about just right for Flint right now, he thought. It has been some time since he had a good time with the gang anyway.

". . . What do you say? You, me, Nick and David tomorrow?" asked Flint, a pleading look in his dark brown eyes.

Jeff blinked. "Sorry, I zoned out for a bit there. What did you say?"

Flint rolled his eyes. "I asked you if you would like to be part of my revenge on them tomorrow with Nick and David on my side. Seriously, Sterling, you _have_ got to stop drifting in and out of conversations."

Jeff simply nodded and pulled out his cell phone to dial for Nick, a strategy forming in his devious little mind. Hold up- His own brown eyes widened. "Do I really drift in and out of conversations?" he demanded.

The other boy simply rolled his eyes again. "I'll see you tomorrow, Jeff."

. . . . .

Nick and David sat on a stone bench in the courtyard adjacent to the Music Department, textbooks and notebooks between them both. A large tarpaulin covering a pile of sand sat behind them, meant for the construction site going on in the Music Department.

Matt, Jon, and Patrick walked noisily toward where Nick and David were seated at, boisterously shoving and joking about with each other. As they approached, Nick saw Jeff and Greg also walking towards them from the corner of his eye from the IT Department. David began to pack up the books they had brought out into his waterproof Hugo Boss messenger bag, a discreet smile on his face. "Over here!" he called with a wave to the triad.

"What's up, guys?" Matt greeted the group when all of them were gathered near David and Nick's bench.

Jon bumped fists with David. "Yeah, Jeff said we were supposed to practise harmonising today?" He waved at the approaching Jeff and Greg. "'sup, fellas!"

Nick shrugged nonchalantly. "Nah," he said. "We can always harmonise tomorrow since it's a Saturday tomorrow. Which also means that you guys can have your uniforms cleaned by Monday for school, right?"

"Uhh, yeah, sure," Jon said in uncertainty. "If it doesn't rain over the weekend, it'll be fine."

"Why do you ask?" Greg asked, glancing from Jeff to David to Nick warily with narrowed eyes.

Patrick's eyes widened. "Um, Greg, Jon," he mumbled. "I think they're about to-"

"ATTACK!" came a shout from behind the tarp.

**Reviews are always welcome.**


	17. Chapter 17

**Disclaimer: I do not own Glee or any of its characters.**

* * *

Balls of paint flew through the air as Nick, David, Jeff and Flint had the other four boys surrounded. Nick and David already had paintball guns in their hands, hidden beneath the stone bench while Flint had his when he was hiding behind the tarpaulin. They were shooting out multicoloured paint while Jeff flung balloons filled with bright coloured paint at their targets.

"What the-" Jon started before his face was splashed with thick yellow liquid. He quickly pulled his blazer up to protect his face.

"Hey- Ow- You guys- Sto-" Matt couldn't complete his sentences as he was continuously pelted with little balls of paint.

Greg was covering his face with his arms, body splattered with bright pink and green blotches; Jon was in a similar position, only on his side on the ground; and Patrick was sitting on the ground, legs splayed out in front of him, accepting each pelt of paint with a goofy grin on his face. The four who were being attacked were laughing, though, as were the four attackers.

Flint was roaring with maniacal laughter, but managed a weak, "Alright, alright, we should stop, guys." He lowered his paintball gun slowly, wiping tears from his eyes. The others followed suit as the four that had been attacked straightened themselves up from the ground where they had been surrounded.

"You guys look like a mess!" Nick pointed and laughed.

David seconded the laughter. "He's right; you guys should really see yourselves!" Flint and Jeff simply grinned from where they stood by Patrick and Greg.

Matt, Greg, Jon, and Patrick _did_ look like a mess: each had splashes of bright green, pink, yellow and orange paint decorated their Academy blazers, slacks, and shoes. Their hairs were matted to their scalps, stuck together with the now-hardening paint.

Patrick took small steps towards Jeff, spreading his arms wide. "Give a brother some love, Jeff," he said and proceeded to hug the blonde Warbler. Jeff took a hesitant step back, but was quickly smothered by the taller boy. "I love you, man!" he laughed.

"Patrick, you arse!" Jeff laughed, but accepting the hug anyway. When Patrick detached himself, Jeff's blazer had bright patches of paint on it.

Once the laughter had died down, Jon looked around and asked, "What brought this on anyway?" his eyes fell on Flint.

The smaller boy flinched. but threw his arms up in exasperation and groaned. "You idiots ambushed me yesterday! How could you forget?" He folded his arms across his chest, a hurt look on his face at their forgetfulness. "It took me _hours_ to get the mud out of my hair!"

Nick looked lost, having no clue why he had agreed to join Flint's little ambush in the first place. "Wait a minute-" Jeff hadn't told neither him nor David why they decided to paintball Matt, Greg, Jon and Patrick today. "So you're saying we're part of your revenge plan?" He turned and shot a glare at Flint.

Flint nodded innocently. "Yeah, didn't Jeff tell you yesterday?"

A nervous chuckle came from the blonde. "Yeah," he said, scratching his head with a grin on his lips. "About that. . ."

"_Jeff_," Nick groaned at his best friend. "What have you done?"

"Great! Now, _we'll_ be the ones getting ambushed soon," David groaned, backing away slowly. He had already noticed that Matt and Greg had picked up the discarded paintball guns. "You guys, RUN!" he cried. With that being said, he turned and made a beeline to the arches that led to the Music Department.

Without any hesitation, Nick, Jeff, and Flint sprinted across the courtyard as fast as their legs could carry them. A few paintballs whizzed past their heads, narrowly missing their targets.

"Ow!" Flint cried when a few hit him square on his back.

Jeff chanced a glance back and saw that Flint was beginning to unbutton his blazer to assess the mess. "No, no, no, Flint!" he shouted. "They're going to get you!" He punched out a groan. The things I do for my friends! The blonde whipped around and tugged away Flint's hand, yanking him away from his spot.

They ran.

. . . . .

David, Nick, and Jeff entered the Sterling residence caked in dried paint, their hair matted together in bright pinks, yellows and oranges. They were laughing until a screech echoed in their ears.

"Jeffery Sanderson Sterling! Why are you in my house dripping in paint? Why are you even _covered_ in paint?" His mother yelled from the den upon seeing the boys walk through the hall.

The three froze in their tracks on their way up to Jeff's bedroom. Parents using their children's given full names were always a bad sign. _Always_. Slowly, they turned on their heels to face the wrath of one Mrs Sterling. Her mouth was agape, and her wide brown eyes simply glared fury, centred on the blonde boy standing in between Nick and David. Her reading glasses were perched on her nose; she must have been working from home today.

"Crap." Jeff heard David mutter. Nick's eyes were as wide as a doe caught in headlights. He knew how Mrs Sterling was like when she was enraged; Nick was best friends long with Jeff long enough to know how his mother was like. Nothing like British temper to match the weather there, the brunette had said before.

Nick shot David a look. "Shut up, man," he hissed.

"It's a funny story, Mum," Jeff started, holding up two hands in defence. "Let me explain-" Just then, his paint-covered blazer slid from his shoulders onto the rug he was standing on, the still-drying paint staining it a bit.

"My rug!" screeched Mrs Sterling, not waiting for her son's explanation. "Get that _thing_ off my rug, Jeffery!"

Jeff quickly snatched the item of clothing off as if the rug itself was on fire. A very attractive blotch of pink was already staining the white of the fabric. "Crap," he parroted David beneath his breath when he saw the stain. He heard his mother release a sigh. She was probably pinching the bridge of her nose to keep from yelling at him, too.

"Flint involved me in a part of an ambush against the others, Mum! But uhh, the paint was my idea though," he explained a mile a minute to the woman two steps down into the den. He warily peeked at her from behind his bangs covering his eyes.

The two boys behind Jeff just nodded dumbly, afraid of what their blonde friend's mother would do to them; she really was capable of anything at this point. What made it worse was that they were tracking brightly coloured paint in the house. Nick was starting to slowly back away up the staircase, ready to run when Mrs Sterling exploded.

Mrs Sterling rubbed her temples with two fingers, sighing loudly. "Go. Clean. Up. _Now_," she enunciated each word slowly but patiently, frustration lacing her voice.

Without hesitation, the three boys dashed up the stairs towards Jeff's bedroom, suppressing their grins and chuckles before bursting through the door.

Once in the room, David fell in Jeff's computer desk chair with a _thud_. "'Sanderson,' Jeff?" he snickered. "_That's_ your middle name you've been hiding from us all year? No wonder you wouldn't show us your school access cards."

"Shut up, David," warned Jeff.

David nodded, grin still in check. "You can't threaten me, _Sanderson_."

"I can't threaten you, you say?" Jeff smirked at the dark-skinned boy. "What about that time during Professor Ulrich's Chemistry class when you spat not one, but _two_ wads of gum into his boiling experiment for his MIT research that he had been working on for weeks?" His smirk widened as he cupped a hand around his ear. "What is that about me not able to threaten you?"

A pillow from Jeff's bed bounced off the closet door where Jeff stood. "I managed to find those before Jenkins noticed!" David protested. "Though they were all silver and gooey. . ." Jeff grimaced at the memory of the wads of gum. They didn't look like gum anymore after being extracted.

"Nick, what are you doing?" Jeff's muffled voice called from the closet. "It's my room, so I get the privilege to shower first."

"Nick?" David called the missing brunette. There was silence. "Nicky!" he yelled, whirling around in the chair.

Nick, who was already shedding his clothes in the adjacent bathroom, "I've got more concerns than Jeff's middle name, David; I've paint in my underwear!"

. . . . .

_Hi, Jeff. How have you been doing? Everything is fine here at McKinley. Just wanted to let you know that I miss you. xx Q_ - sent 21:07

. . . . .

"She's been nothing but trouble to you, Jeff. I mean, she broke your heart and okay, it mightn't have taken long for you to get back on track, but are you really sure you want to take her back?" Nick asked steadily, not missing a bated breath. He took a sip of his organic pumpkin seed protein shake from his tumbler, eyes not leaving his blonde best friend hunched over his own can of Dr Pepper.

"Jeffers!" Nick snapped his fingers in front of his face.

Jeff just sat there resolutely, clasped hands resting in front of the tin can, body bent over the stone table. The two of them were sitting on one of the few outdoor stone picnic tables off ways of the Academy's dining bistro, some distance away from the buzzing crowd and the tinkering of cutlery on porcelain plates. Nick had noticed his best friend wasn't his usual jubilant and bubbly self upon entering their first class they had together that day, which was Physics, when Jeff usually greeted him with a light smack to the back of Nick's head. He had later approached his friend after class, asking Jeff what had happened last night.

The blonde only mumbled one word to Nick, "Quinn," not even meeting his best friend's eyes.

Jeff had just about completed his Art History paper when his phone buzzed from his bed. He was surprised to see Quinn's name of the notification screen. His heart was speeding up as he swiped a finger on the surface of his phone to unlock the device to read the text. And when he did, Jeff could only stare at his phone in silence, mouth set in a line.

What was he to say? Should he even say something to her? Was she even expecting him to reply? What if he blunders himself, like he always had with her? He had nothing else to lose, right? Does that mean she's considering taking him back now? Maybe she only texted him just so she could mess with his diminishing feelings for her again?

No, Quinn wouldn't do that.

Would she?

He didn't know how long he stood over his bed. When he snapped back into reality, he simply just tossed his phone back onto the bed and refocused his attention on his paper. It took him almost two hours to conclude his theory because his mind was still on that one little text Quinn had sent earlier. Finally, he decided to forsake the conclusion and get ready for bed.

Once in bed, he couldn't sleep. Instead, he went through the many pictures of him and Quinn stored in his phone, reminiscing every moment they shared together when they took those pictures.

* * *

**Reviews are always welcome.**


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